POEM 1
You’re so ugly and special
All mine
Nobody else wants you
I’ll keep you all to myself
Embrace you, hold you tight
Your dusty brown earth
Your garbage piled against the door
You are so repulsive
But I know you
I can open you up
Reveal something peachy, sticky, sweet
You’re overflowing
Spilling all over me suddenly
My own secret plaything
Lick you all up
You are so tender
POEM 2
Lying on the ground in a cemetery
thinking of you and also thinking
of how my body is stacked parallel to hundreds of others
who never knew either of us
but we are all turned palms up to the sky,
in varied forms of rapture
Maybe love will be like dying
POEM 3
I want to write 333 poems &
publish them all in one book
An ode to angel numbers
I found one type of pen
when I was 20 years old
Now that’s the only pen I use
There is no more past
There is only the vast expanse of infinite future
Nevertheless things repeat themselves
I’m always walking down Neil Avenue
Someone is puking in the cobblestone of
Athens, Ohio right now
Vibrating, drunk, and happy to
not feel themselves in their own body
You are always remembering me
When I write things down, I am
impressing one feeling
into lines of paper or pixels on a webpage
Representing pressure + tension
from my perspective but
How do I weigh which feelings to
Record + represent
And which feelings to sequester into intentional amnesia
I don’t recall the feelings I don’t want to
how does that process work within myself?
My silly words to forever be tarnished by the inaccuracy of memory
We tell ourselves the past builds to the present
Decisions we make stack on top of each other
little cans of beans and sauces, boxes of pasta in my pantry
anticipating one day Me, picking it up
opening, activating, simmering, & stewing it
I eat and it nourishes me
No, that’s not it
Not how it works
Nothing culminates & nothing builds
Humans like the illusion of control
they like narrativizing their lives
Nothing leads to anything
It just is, everything is
I met you in a fake situation, and we had a
real relationship
Now we have a fake relationship, while
we are both in real situations
The fake is more real than the really real
Something i repeat to myself
I am looking for the balance
I want to exist in the space between
fake & real
That which is unspoiled by reality
Or rather, exists outside of it
pure and perfect
A world within itself, where its own laws apply
but is still grounded, honest, and clear
A microcosm manipulated to astutely reflect
the vision of its two creators, you and me
But it’s not You and me, it’s me and the universal you
You who helps me, who listens to me, and in return shares with me
You who holds the great big mastiffs as I walk by the window, fogged with their slobber
You who is entertained when you are 10 years old in the schoolyard, by yourself in the grass
in Mid May
You who finds a keychain with my name on it on the sidewalk,
you show it to me but keep it for yourself
You who splits an adderall with me and watches the city lights on your rooftop
You who brings me four bouquets of flowers on my birthday
(Each bouquet from a different one of You)
You who tells me to never settle as I am drunk on a patio near the Atlantic ocean
You who waves at me through your medical mask from the restaurant
where You work
You who bleaches my hair every Wednesday in February, even though it will crack
Just because I think it will make me look pretty,
and You want me to be pretty for You
I love you
I want us to be real, You and I
I want you to love me too
