I kissed a wall in Ibiza
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I like to tell people
I kissed a wall in Ibiza
kayaked the Mediterranean
got stung by a jellyfish
got super tan
ate paella
visited beaches
where gorgeous women
sunbathed topless
seemingly without fear.
I like to tell them
I wore tiny shorts
and belly shirts
and bikinis
the whole trip
and wasn’t cat-called
even once.
I don’t tell them
about the man
who touched me
in the club
about feeling
like the poor kid
the hillbilly journalist
among LA/NYC
“influencers”
with their thousands
of followers
their thousands
of dollars
and their insistence
that traveling Europe
is “actually pretty cheap.”
I don’t tell them
about telling my friend
“I hope I make it back”
when she dropped me
at the airport
my travel anxiety
overpowering
my excitement.
I don’t tell themI fell asleep crying
my first night there
because six months later
oceans apart
you were still rooted
so deep
not even the Medi
could wash you
could rock you
away.
