there are those days when i am very affectionate, all
wishing for hugs and calling my loved ones "sweetie".
i ought to remind myself
that there are those days.
i do feel a bit like harley quinn, that basketcase
i lean toward one extreme because i am it,
then suddenly the other
because some psychoanalyzed part of me
might as well be this opposite
and feels the gravity.
perfectly comfortable, i become it.
the split-personality exists.
it sure as hell does, according
to this arkham misfit.
it is sexy, in fact
in a tight-fitting one piece and red lipstick
so deeply red it is nearly black
and shiny as cellophane wrap.
the split personality is my diagnosis.
i am uncomfortable with the notion
of leaving my bedroom today, the
pink and heather-grey sanctuary
where i offer clean clothing
and feed a family of plants.
this room is practically my baby, though itself,
being a womb,
mothers me instead.
a visitor comes in, as if on a hospital trip.
on one end of my bed they sit.
they go to lean against the wall
with their back nearly touching my feet.
get off of me, i raise my monotone of the day,
in a panic. get off, get away from me,
this is far too much.
i am sorry
you are not an exception to my dilemma.
i am sorry for everything, in fact.
they come back later to ask me
if at any point i would like to leave
my sanctuary today, though i did,
at least a handful of times,
to use the lavatory. i pissed. i took a shit.
i washed my hands, cleaned my ears
that was it. but it was more than enough.
i dragged my feet back here
in my ridiculous red pants
and charity-bought shirt
boasting of humanitarianism
which i either have or have not.
i would prefer to wed it.
but all relationships end. perhaps
i would prefer
to wed not.
i can imagine the awful things that
are either being said or thought
all in hushed tones
in the neighboring sanctuaries.
and since "sanctuary"
is a spiritual word, what is said in them
i must respect it.
i cannot judge it, though always
am i permitted to imagine it.
i imagine there is sex and sex-related scandals
in the rooms all around me.
that must be all there is.
i do what i must to not run into it.
i stay inside.
i stay alone.
i hear the footsteps of another
coming to the door
to find out if i made them an exception
to my no-touching policy today.
they turned off the light out there, even
went so far
as to turn off the television.
they let the dog out to let out his nightly leak
and let him back in.
i know if the dog resents my confusion,
the person as well
certainly resents my confusion.
they enter the room, giving
the top of my scalp a kiss.
it was intended for a cheek, probably.
i challenge myself and bow
my head forward.
"did i hurt you just now?"
it did not hurt.
it only seemed to contradict
whatever laws nature asserts through my
sense of touch.
it permeates everything that seems real.
i do not like it.
nobody is a sweetie, or a cupcake,
a lovey-dovey, and certainly
not a honey bunny.
everybody is a person.
they are not allowed
to prey on my instincts.
they are there.
they too are alive.