Dear Locker

By Meagan O'Hara

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I love that I immediately know that you are mine
with your belly swollen with my textbooks
and throwing up discarded papers.

I love the smell of the alcohol from rotting pears
that fills my nose
when that four month old container falls
onto the floor and explodes into a pungent flame.

I love not being able to get my worn out
book bag into your thin frame
and the music my moans and grunts create.

I love how you resemble a museum
full of old tests and gym shorts
and chip bags and chewed up pencils

I love how you make the people next to me

back away in fear

and how you always make me late

to my most hated class.

Please don't change
For God knows I wont make you.

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