Garcia, Hottest Gossip

Garcia, Hottest Gossip

for telling them I lived.

 

i wanted a cigarette.

c-store run.

nothing holy.

marlboro menthol shorts.

 

my cousin said, take me—

ended up outside a vape shop.

 

i left the vape world long before

they even felt shame

trashing their old stained boxers—

as if they clean any better now.

 

he said he had secrets

saved for me

but i’d already betrayed him once—

thought he was hard using,

told the aunts.

he wasn’t.

i lost his trust.

so when he asked?

what’s a gummy?

i handed it over,

too blind to touch myself. 

 

i paid.

the clerk gave me a “mystery” gummy—

whatever the fuck that means.

she delivered.

it was delicious.

the best mystery

i ever swallowed.

and just like that—

i was hot gossip again.

 

left my gummy bag loose.

it got passed around

like curiosity killed for candy

and regret was still not enough.

even the men in blue

seemed

little.

 

she took a nibble.

empty stomach, cocky tongue.

said she’d done this before.

and then made herself

the biggest joke

in a family full of ’em.

 

don’t take what you can’t take.

you’re an adult.

think for yourself.

i didn’t shove knives down your throat—

no.

you were already

at the morgue.

stone cold.

 

i’m not this story’s saint.

but i don’t need wings to fly.

i’ve earned my right

to fight

 

flights to heights

no one in this house

will fight just bites

 

she started to sink—

slumped.

pale.

wide-eyed.

and my aunt screamed “ER”

like she was finally getting

her second-worst family drama

i’m just hotter.

 

i didn’t panic.

didn’t run.

stayed like i always do—

cigarette unlit,

label already burned.

 

i didn’t lace shit.

didn’t lie.

i just stopped pretending i’m innocent

in a family full of people

who hide their sins

in casseroles

and prayer chains.

 

now i’m the scandal.

yael, the cautionary tale.

yael, the family jewel martyr.

they will whisper again

like i don’t speak fluent braille.

 

my favorite cousin?

quiet as god.

but i remember:

nosebleeds.

hot tub stories. 

twitching fingers.

the baby she made

her redemption 

 

i ask myself sometimes—

she has the baby now.

is she really happy now?

 

they all wanna forget

what they’ve choked on.

but i remember.

crystal clear.

 

so tell it.

loud.

say i passed the gummies.

say i paid.

say i let the night burn

and didn’t pray.

 

i let the cigarette burn a sermon 

through a hole

too deep

it prolapsed 

 

but don’t rewrite me

as the storm or just weak fury

 

when i was the only one

who couldn’t run