habits by Eunice Chi (16, New Jersey)*

i wonder why girls have to be broken to be beautiful
and why boys wait to be fixed
by hands that can barely hold their own weight 

he calls me at night and i can hear the candied, the crushed, the syrup
dripping from his lips
slurred words that shouldn’t feel this soft 
but they do, and there will be time to repent when the sun comes up

---

 tell me a story
it’s been so long that i am almost surprised when i reach into myself
and the words are still there, overripe and coated in dust
it feels like a tender bruise, like an old friend lighting up your phone 
and you press and it pushes, as hope spreads through your arm like a disease

tell me anything
his sound pulses against my hand and i cave.
i talk about how love is an illness
how it is the only worthwhile thing for people like us
and yet it burns, coming back every time
he knows better than this
and i have never felt more alone in my life
as his breath slows to sleep on the other end.