It’s Halloween and I’m dressed like a whore, walking home

alone. Just me. And the wind.

And I wonder how stupid I sounded in class today.

I wonder how much better I’d look tonight if I did x y z:

pilates or apple cider vinegar or steps or calories.

I wonder if I’d make a good mother and where I can find a cigarette.

I wonder which of my coworkers think I’m cute and how far away God is.

I wonder if I’m being followed,

and it’s cold and my cheeks are wet.

I wonder what respect means and if people respect me

(as it’s Halloween and I’m dressed like a whore).

I wonder why I find it strange to wonder about respect

when it's Halloween and I’m dressed like a whore.

I wonder if my wondering is woke enough,

then wonder about the future of a country so sick.

I wonder if I can still do the splits, or a handstand.

The wind blows and my fake eyelashes shiver with me;

I wonder why I didn’t just bring a fucking jacket

I wonder how many people I’ll love, how many of them will love me.

I wonder what it would be like to be a spy, or a race car driver, or a supermodel.

A rockstar, a scholar, a princess, a big cat. A rock or the sun.

I wonder if my butt looks nice and if my parents are proud of me.

I wonder, then know, that I’m not alone tonight;

there must be legions of girls

1.      Wondering while

2.      Dressed like a whore on Halloween

I wonder if the universe can hear me. Hear us:

my mother, me, my daughter, hers.

I wonder if the universe thinks I talk too much.

I wonder when I’ll die,

how I’ll do it.

Electra McNeil is a well-adjusted writer and waitress from Albuquerque, New Mexico. She spends most of her time laughing.