#1455

she says I should write about myself
what I’m feeling, maybe
(what I won’t admit I’m feeling)
but I’m no good at this
I dance around subjects like a fencer
when I should strike
onetwothree
like a boxer
beat them bloody with my fists
curb-stomp their teeth in
and I guess what I’m feeling
is anger
is fear
is helpless
and what I don’t feel is
safe

(but don’t we all?)

I guess what I’m feeling
is angry
angry at a world I can’t trust
angry at a society built to subjugate
everything I am
everything and everyone I hold dear
so angry I want to lash out somehow
brand myself with ink and metal
unleash ghosts, breathe fire
bleed and scream and sing dirges
just fuck shit up, really
and the irony is this fight’s not even the one that hurts

(the most)

because I’m still feinting my blade
see how good I am?
and the real story
the real thing I’m feeling
is as empty as the house I imagine when I look inside myself
and hear
nothing
and see
nothing
and feel
nothing, nothing, NOTHING
because I have been vacated like someone exorcised
and I wonder if they miss the demons, after
the invasive presence
the madness
the companionship

(it’d be something, at least)

(I’d take it)

#1453

there are no terms for how I love you
like the ocean loves the land
like the soil loves the rain
no labels for how I need you
like birds need the wind
like berries need the sun
no categories for how I have become
a salmon swimming upstream
a seed settling in the earth
a falling star disintegrating
atmospheric
kinetic
endless