i am so hungry
i do not like this world
i have fed it so much
yet i starve now
i worry
what haven't i done
there are merely a few roads i haven't taken
all of them leads to the same end too
do i still change my narratives
i guess i should
atleast i am not starved of narratives
i should eat one of those narratives
make do,
wear myself down
but say it is might, it is tenacity
make do, the familiar road
hungry but i have to take it

it
i
it remains empty, so empty.
would you write into it endlessly,
would you writhe inside of it fervently
please ugly please

i said, would you wear my shoes
you said no, you have never used such shoes, you don’t imagine you can
and i said well that’s good
wear this hat then, i said
i will walk with you in the scorching sun, maybe offer you shade
you said no, you got to make appearances
would you read my soul, i asked
you said - no, it’s not what i read
i said okay, what if i give my shoes, hats, soul, blood and flesh
no you said, you don’t feel like it
okay, i said, i’ll write everything down then
but i restrained the spill,
until my body was full of perforations

there was never enough paper
never enough books
the pens contained me
the key clicks asked to trace back too much
the paint had its own stories too
the dance was too visceral
the film was incoherent
and so i lived and died into them all
the masterful rebellion

and then your skin, when it was my paper
my canvas, my strings, my music
every flinch and gasp and breath was like art complete

i wanted horns, i wanted a tail,
i never wanted wings
because i grew roots first