I want to cry
It seems a foolish concept
But one that I long for
To cry feels so human
So why can I not cry?
It feels like an inside joke,
to cry that is
A joke that no one has cared
to familiarize me with

I have not cried in so long
It has become empty
Not feeling that lump in my throat
Making it hard to swallow
I can hardly remember
The sensations that come with it
Skin growing red and splotchy
Heat
Warm tears running down
Heat

I think to myself
'If only I can cry'
I plead
'Then everything will come back'
I no longer care what will make me cry
Pain, sadness, happiness
I just need enough emotions
So I will wait
And wait
Until something comes along
And teaches me to cry again

She said "I'm falling in love."

I said "I'm falling apart."

Dear Mom & Dad,

I won't be coming home quite as soon as once thought. I have found a place where they really like me; a place like no other. Instead of being shunned and despised, like most places, I'm invited to everything:
parties,
picnics,
and parades,
my neighbors even welcome me with open arms. Suffice-to-say, I finally feel like I belong and plan to stay a while in this country.

Your Son,
Covid-19 Coronavirus, III

something bothers me about old commercials

you can tell the young actors didn't have to work as hard to fake their smiles

a full stomach
a roof and a bed
what else is left

dope
i mean
dopamine

⠀⠀1
snow spills
like stars shredding onto soil.
suddenly I’m sinking,
& the world weighs like a wound
wrapped in the white, wet wool of winter;

      2
autumn appears in amber, already
pulling out my pieces—
again, it aches;

      3
death dawns in darkness
& I dance, drenched of the desire
to dream—breathing and breaking
bonded before, now they birth
a boundless burden;

     4
night
nests its nails into my neck;
& I’m bone-broken, body-bloodied,
sprawling scarlet across my skin;

     5
eclipsing with you,
I lose my light, looking for love,
& all of my colors cease to conceive;

     6
sun sits
on the saffron spine of summer
but the melancholy doesn’t melt away,
dreams do;

     7
skies spout
my sorrow in spring—
garnished with green grounds, I grieve.