Emo, 2005

Testing out your sister’s Clinique eyeliner,
never sure of how thick to make the black
beneath our eyes, then blacking out
our fingernails with a Sharpie that would wear
first at the edges from the sweat, me pulling

up a pair of jeans your girlfriend let me
borrow before skinny jeans for men existed,
were even a thing yet, and you in the mirror
flat-ironing your choppy boy bangs. How ridiculous
we looked, this weekly preshow ritual of belonging,
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