wowww all you boys are driving me craaaazy
and for some reason that just makes me want more of you
all draped over me and shivering under me,
looking for every kind of love

re: your five year old self

i wake up at night
and i'm bad to myself
i am bad to myself,
i am bad to myself.

i stalk the floors for hours
i don't even know why
i am bad to myself,
i am bad to myself

actually i do know why
i am bad to myself
i am bad to myself
because i'm not good at anything

or at least that's how it feels
when you're lonely at night
when you're bad to myself
i am bad to myself

i am bad to myself
with bad sleeping habits,
with declining self hygene,
with sad movie choices,

with endless internet stalkings,
with endless lists of shortcomings,
i am bad to myself
and have public freakouts

but
public freakouts are the good part
public freakouts are the fun part
public freakouts are the best part
of being alone
public freakouts are the weirdest
public freakouts are the clearest (epiphanic)
public freakouts are sheer bliss
when dancing alone

Doubt

Life is to lock into others and flow.

No.

faust, part 2 act 3

little remembrances on the subway

make me hungry for you

at some point, in his arms, she burst into flames

and laughed

open stomach

open mouthed

i trade places with you and think you look better in my clothes

in yours i look bizarre.

maybe you do too.

all my things slightly out of place.

a little out of shape.

in morning and at night

celestial bodies stored in sheets of air

look out of windows at another sky

and burst into flames

you heart

your foot

and eye

called out on my game

lets have it out, you and I!

I stomp down the stairs.

every poem is a poem about privilege!

I am eating privilege food! I am raging privilege rage! I am grumping privilege grump!

don't tell me to find another word.

I told you already, it's a line drawn by crossing!

there has to be a path that's transcendent of preaching but yes,

I am on my state-the-problem soap box and I know it's annoying!

someday I'll know how to say it just with my eyes,

that I don't mean stand and listen to me.

I mean: come on, your personhood is a soapbox too!

this is not about our subway ride, this is about suspense.

the doors open and shut, and I walk through between them.

you said something about the repeat of words.

and I don't get to know what you said until night time.

there are so many things you have to wait to know!

I peel the subway doors back open and the car is mostly empty, now.

except for some chatter in the corner, enough to talk over so our words don't sound so loud.

we're there on the 4th and 9th platform all morning, sunlight streaming in just like you like.

In this life, things happen one at a time.

I say first: really, why?

and before the doors open I say thank you, and I love you.

though I can imagine what we talk about in between,

I hasn't really happened yet, and so I don't get to know.

(and cynthia hopkins sings)

it's beautiful, we don't know the ending.

we don't even know the next words!