Maybe a relationship is just two idiots who don’t know a damn thing except the fact that they’re willing to figure it out together.
YAS SOOKEH PREACHHH
how do people still not get this?
I am all mosquito bites
and food bank chocolate cake -
I am unlovable, untouchable,
and fucking perfect.
I always land on my feet,
but tend to flaunt my fault lines,
and so god is cat-calling me again,
he’s sneering down at the ribbons of my thighs
like his own self-son didn’t give himself up
to a latticework of scars.
I am building an exoskeleton
of beach glass & bottle caps,
I am the ghost drifting through
the ferns and the beer-soaked living room.
We all live reflexive and manic,
we are pinballs in the cogs of the cosmos,
closing our jaws on a moment
and sailing forward into something.
I pace through catacombs of July humidity
and remember to forget about
the spray of rust on the walls -
the afternoon’s hexane heat leans south & east,
making us forage for all our opposites,
through overgrowth and alleyways.
We are going the way of the thylacine,
caught up in shenanigans under the Winnebago moon,
swollen with the grandiosity of intention,
howling back and forth and outwards,
losing degrees of separation