Real Talk by Abby Kloppenburg

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Real Talk

I’m grabbing a handful of your skin, telling you to dig deeper,
but just behind your back—I’m the one with the shovel.
I’m starving for your body, I keep drooling, but what I mean by that is
the truth. Show me your bloody, shivering
honesty punched there underneath your sternum.
Show me your fury as it beats
in-out, in-out: yes, even while I’m serving us breakfast.
Slip a handful of tears into my hand—not plastic-wrapped
or candy-covered, just salty dollops pumped
from places that might hurt me to look at—
and I’ll cup them throughout
the whole damn party.
Even by the liquor cabinet buried deep in the
stranger’s bedroom: I won’t let go.
Tell me fuck you or it’s because this one time while
you catch her face in the window,
and later, as a reward, I’ll show you the difference between
a fair and a carnival.
Show me just one glimpse inside your throat,
let me wrap my fingers around its
wet pink
and I promise you this:
I’ll never ask for anything else.

Abby Kloppenburg

Abby is a writer from Philly currently surviving in DC. Her work has been featured on Human Parts and Bodega Fiction, among others. You can find more of her work on