I don't look like either side of my family
an outlier in plain sight
soap-bleached, dry hair in puffs of smoke
and rolls of skin
undesirable on either side
and i feel the heat

could i have been born well?
untangled as i felt the first few rays of light
maybe meant for a different mother
the storks dropped their package
on the wrong address

my mother, could you dry my eyes?
just for the night
before you empty your wallets
at the big house
before you ruin your liver
and fill the gaps with
*****

maybe i was meant for a different light
a different face, a different body
a different name, a different brain
a different person in my mirror everyday
i sing songs of wanting to escape
as i rattle the metal bars on my windows
i am not mistreated,
rather not treated at all
walking in silence as my sister
freely wails her sorrows into her pillow at night
tiptoeing to not be heard
my brother cackles and screams slurs
at the top of his lungs

they were made for them
perfect children of god
carbon copies of my mother's face and demeanor
i
only through my eyes

only through my eyes.

you left your blueish dress
twisted by the pool’s edge
like a cold monument
to every single misstep
and my heart is overwhelmed
with visions of a dancing grave

via crucis in the morning
carry me to our palisade
while these tiny arcs of light
leave my eyes, breaking easily
and your voice keeps me awake
i believe that i need this

you were wrong
i am nothing
but one more familiar face
amid the pageantry

i stand at the pedestrian crossing
white parallel lines aged by rubber
i wait for another person
and i cross

my brain goes white with parallel lines
i stop
in the middle of the street
for a second

sometimes i wish a car would
take me then
sometimes i wish a truck would
knock me out
is it worth the trauma
of gradeschoolers?
is it worth the clean up of city hall?
and how would they portray me?
a suicidal maniac who gets people in prison?
or merely an idiot with nothing better to do
other than cause chaos?

scene of the crime
outlined in white chalk against
white parallel lines
brain matter splattered on an SUV's windshield

funny

they can't find my eyes.

People like imagery and trinkets and things-
they abide by the boundaries of themselves and move onwards, emboldened by this recognition- this worship

but I am a pike made of flesh-
bloated like a fish,
wretched, unknowing in mirrors.

This world is my species-
my species indirect,
as bloated, as wretched.

The beauties I find I create,
and even then I hate them afterwards,
I hate too much for the sake of my love-
my embarrassment.

when I awaken
I extend my finger
towards a panel of dancing light-

did you know that its veins were torn from a mountain?

a whole hierarchy of angels
living inside the earth
were turned to transistors

so that my letters
could glow in your hands.

when I learned this
I began sleeping beside a stream,

in the places where I could watch
wires dance-

beneath wooden pillars and their flimsy black arms
whispering secrets in permanent embrace.

every night I would dream  
to the forward noise
of churning water;

of fluid drifting through the air unseen
or pouring from life long past-

terraforming
for the maintenance of symmetry.

is the little things that excite, even
in the height of summer, low look
for seeds, small flowers studded
in hedgerows,

bird in hand is drawn
rules to guide us

with stars above that have no points
at all
yet each one has a story