coated in dust from a thousand joints sits on the glass table near my bed which my grandfather made somehow, magician that he was. another day of slobbing about, becoming an expert at youtube, watching everything on netflix
bojack’s still good though. this poem isn’t a patch of well-tilled earth intended for growing notes with which to sustain a family, it is wilderness, an empty lot natural and random in its development, pass by, your kind are never welcome here where trees huddle together gossiping and soaring eagles smash their own eggs on hard rocks to spite creation, you will not survive this poem.
take comfort though,
not all planes of existence are open to everyone - the mad eagle and i would surely die the moment we step outside into your realm of the real.
i don’t know what to make of this. i’ve never learned to process your flighty rejections. you push & pull at me like i’m a mislabeled door that you can’t operate & so in my mind there is the possibility that you must covet some guilty hindrance, there are bars between us & i must look especially pretty while begging through the gaps. [insert fetishizing of captivity & denial.] “no” with you has been flexible, elliptic, interrogative, an invitation for contention. “no?” hard limits, “no?” delineation, “no?” rope burns leaving scars on my neck & thighs & arms. “no” means dished out as you like it. “no” means hypothetical positing. “no” translated into spanish is no; in french it is non existent. “no” translated into german is nein which should be harsh but i am a professional anagrammer at heart so really it translates to “nine” as in nine lives as in i have nine chances to hear you say ‘yes’, the word which will absolve & pacify us both in one go. the only certainty i have is that your “no/no?” doesn’t signify “absolutely not” although it would be kinder if it did. because you undressed in my presence & said come on in, the water’s fine! knowing that i wasn’t used to atlantic temperatures. you asked me to live here, you petitioned me into my prerogative because damnit, you love me, but your mouth keeps shaping this dumb word that i always have to rearrange with all my linguistic know-how because your arms say yes, your poems say yes, your friends say yes, your smiles say yes & i can’t fucking process this vacillating recantation, this jarring of gears, this no-but-don’t-go, this no-but-don’t-stay-put
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We are walking barefoot on dandelions. No. On eggshells. Cracking ourselves open, letting everyone see we are not hiding. You are pulling my heart apart, untangling all the knots and using it as floss for your teeth, picking out all the words we bite down on. You call my name. No. You whisper the color of my lips.
Softly now, we are gluing eggshells back together, sewing seeds back on dandelions. We are looking for a pair of socks without holes in them, never hiding, but hoping we are not found. Gently now, you are pretending you didn’t slip, tip toeing now, we are trying not to fall in love.
Advice from a locked heart (Swallow your key before they find it).