Sunday, July 2, 2017

division into continents was
exciting, meaning, a nervous
reaction

centered around hope.

my response surely reveals i'm an unrepentant snob. this is

a way to give myself control: change like this is a fuck up not mine
and i'm the only one reacting uniquely to it.

if she warms up (they say
about me)

we suppose she's a volcano

she'll be warm, right? volcanoes
are always warm?
and she might get

even warmer
as in
warming up to us

becoming an equal
someone

we must listen to
and fuck is she wise

let's rearrange its frailties
by callin' em out
for their strengths

(mister potato hed)

get her
to explode

provoking god to come 'ere
come 'ere and discover us

recognize we're yours
we feel your feathers touch
our faces, astronomical owl
as you gather us

making heaven an actual thing

(shoes, eyes, smiling mouth, and hat; old school actual potato)

except me.
my roots
cannot be dismantled.

i'mma say: i am more than
my grasping
to anything soft, more than

my desperation, my rehearsing
what would happen if abandoned.

i want you to fuck me so bad (i.e., really wanting),

i am being wanting
to be equalized
in the eyes of others. (i'm turning into a person

you
shouldn't of done this to me
)

i devote to
deities

while looking

over my shoulder, to see
if passion gained
from suffering, the number one deity,

will happen to be around.

wanna ask it why the
fuck she don't care about
me and

when the fuck am
i gonna transcend, how
come i just have to roll with
the punches, replaying

resilience over and
over.

can i

show you my hair and show it to others

without losing respect? is that the kinda sacrifice you need from me?
to ask that is to put it out there

that i'm open to

the possibility of feeling
horrified

when i'm not- no, not unless

i'm itching to go crazy. i've put out
fire, or, my happiness,
many times before. shaved my head for

robes, as a way to tell you
i appropriate in ways responsive

to the face of sacredness

constantly shifting for me.

but the heart of this is really: i
appropriate through my

suspecting that you are missing-

i'm surrounded by faeries, they're
existing for me in ways

i'm not okay with. they bite me in my sleep.
that's their only language.
i am their mother.

my nipples drag along the ground.

my purpose in life
is to be in charge of villains.

my faith is irrelevant.

i look over my shoulder, suspecting
i can change that from being true.