4 kilos more

I hate to say it, really 

My thoughts are potent ! - i am fizzing ! ---

And then chewing is a chore

and then I'm 

six again 

and my mom is telling me to eat more 

to grow up big and strong

I hate being my own mother  

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I'm sugary

I should have grown out of it 

she laughs at me and

I turn to goo 

I'm bleeding out sticky syrup 

all over 

Should I try to lick it up?

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I'd thought I'd dismissed 

you 

phantom pain 

prying me open

freezing over and over 

icy thaw hurts more than the chill 

Dante knew best

I am in hell 

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narcissus lover-girl 

gazes; thinks to be in love

is disturbed when I ripple 

spell-broken,

I deepen, deepen 

I am 

vast and endless

not a sea for her  

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two young missionaries 

walk up to me 

and ask me to please embrace their lord and savior

the left is thick and strong: penetrating 

the right is demure and wide-eyed and sweetly-worded 

they ask me if I believe in their god, 

I'm not sure, 

but I pray that whatever god they believe in, theirs or mine, 

is soft to them 

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I am a silly boy 

Today it crept down my skull 

and trickled across my collar

and filled my arms and groin 

with heat and blood and sparks 

I panicked and squirmed and screamed 

I had no control, 

asked my doctor to help 

He told me, with a patronizing paternal smile, 

that I was feeling 

happiness 

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Father is Irish, mother: English

Match made in hell. 

They bicker about their spawn 

whether we are more one than the other 

My father's brothers are blue-eyed, ruddy, proud jutted jaws

My mother is hazel and earthy 

Both lineages bred clever men and strong women: the middling sort 

My eyes are murky mimicries of my mothers' 

I look Slavic, German, some even ask Greek

My...

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I see glimpses of my parents 

that sometimes slip through 

Before me, they were young, resourceful, tried their best 

My mother adopted a feral cat 

which destoyed their furniture when they vacationed 

My father rode a bike and carried packages and ate sandwhiches 

for lunch 

Who were those people? 

I grieve for them but it does and means nothing

My father threatens to h...

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I sneak into my mother's cabinet 

steal expensive face cream 

Its thick and gloppy, smells a little - like faint sunscreen

Stings my ingrown hairs; slick and almost greasy 

And after I use it I understand. 

My cheeks are chubby and bouncy

I'm a plump child in the dim light 

my skin glows along my bones 

my jaw and temple: eerie too 

I look and look and trace my larynx an...

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I'm in the gooey space of time. Light is warm.

I don't move anything. My brain is sinking 

and slopping out my ears and cranium.

I have to piss. I feel dizzy. 

I wonder what the point 

of doing anything is. 

Hold out my left arm, spread my hand open, raise my index finger, 

press down once or twice

I'm alive

I think 

Wonder what the point of doing anything is 

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One grainy autumn day 

he comes back to me 

I smile when I see him on the horizon 

and rush to him when he breaches our threshold  

Garlands 'round his neck, 

I hang about him too 

 - trembling arms - 

and breathe in sweat, and dirt, 

and salt on skin. 

I am not sure what will happen. 

I will myself to think happily 

or at least to not write a bad ending 

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Sex 

Sex Sex Sex 

Its so pesky: fluff and glitter and showmanship for Sex 

Just Sex 

I can't escape Sex 

Who knows if I'm good at it? 

Does it even matter? 

Sex. Taboo. Universal. Tiring. 

The whole thing is ridiculous. 

All the agonizing and grovelling and pining and scheming, 

I can't make heads nor tails of it. 

It nearly drove Bukowski mad, 

and then nearly ...

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I'm wearing leggings today 

I crunch a dark brown leaf under my foot 

My mother pays my rent 

Its reverse autumn

I feel so guilty 

I ran two miles today 

Her father is dying 

I need to take a shower now 

My siblings are home to help 

I have a class at 5:00 

I hate it when she ruffles my hair and grabs my neck 

I took an exam today, I don't think I did well 

She'...

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You stand before me like an ancient hero 

beseeching some variety of unfriendly divinity

Bold, unabashed, determined, focused. 

But you talk, and your hands are nervous 

and fumble and your voice trembles and all of a sudden - 

I remember everything I like about you. 

You, brave, prodding, ask Me for the impossible

"Can't we still be friends?" 

- No. - 

Bu...

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What crude Pow’r and what cruel Fate 
Bid us to the Lovers’ Gate? 

One is Chick’n, the other Craven, 
The latt’r Do’er, the form’r, Maven. 
 
Valor writhes upon His proud steed 
once spear'd and struck by Anxiety   

He opens his dread’d maw and 
bitter Fear spews forth, 
to torment lovers e’ermore. 

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