"my greatest fear is having everyone i've ever loved in a room."

"they all love you, what's scary about that?"

"i said everyone i've ever loved; i never said anything about them loving me."

i want to be everything all at once forever
— casually, like: **** dude, they said you could be president, too? i’ll rock paper scissors you for it
i **** at rock paper scissors, but i **** more at sticking with things that only make me ½, ⅓, ¼ happy
not to mention things i’m bad at but do you even know how good i am at a subject you don’t teach?
columbia, harvard, princeton, yale, brown, dartmouth, upenn, and cornell do
they just don’t know they do, so shhh. i wrote someone else’s name on those essays
i don’t care who knows mine, i’m just trying to keep it out of the obituaries
just one more year ‘till i’m too old to die young
— but who’s counting?
not me, not me, not me.

let’s be adults about this. let’s slam the dishes as we do them. let’s scrape what’s left on everyone’s plates into the garbage disposal; i’ll flip the switch when your sleeve gets caught. let’s put away the kitchen knives, chop chop chop, and see who finishes with the most fingers left. let’s put the nubs in tupperware and put some aside for susan, just let me spit in the container first — or would you rather *** in it? she’d probably prefer it. let’s answer the phone when she calls, answer your phone, answer it. answer and i’ll put your head in the microwave and turn it on high, i’ll blow the house up, i’ll

keep your voice down
the children are outside
quietly dividing up their toys.

the summer we got together, we had nothing better to do.
in the autumn, the sun got low and so did i.
in the winter, you got cold and we froze.
in the spring, my inhibitions melted
and flooded the apartment
i took the trash out in my barefeet.

i came back inside with glass in my toes.
if you’re going to bleed, you said, bleed out the window.
i left ****** footprints all over the carpet.
you were so angry, you ****** on everything we had
i put it all in the washer, even our bodies.

when we were clean
you looked like a stranger
but i would still leave with you.

i set a clock to quit you. it says it’s been “4ds, 6hs, 22m” since i’ve talked to you. have you ever noticed how, if you’re quiet enough, you can always hear a ticking clock, no matter where you are? so, today, i’m trying to be very, very loud. i talk to everyone but you. i talk to the barista at the coffee shop; i talk to the attendant at the subway station; i talk to the security guard at the school. by the end of the day, i even talk to the man on the street corner shouting GOD SAID ADAM AND EVE, NOT ADAM AND STEVE. i yell back that ADAM WAS AN ******* AND IF HE WERE REAL, EVE WOULD’VE LEFT HIM AND STEVE WOULD’VE, TOO. i talk to the people who stand around on the subway platform asking you to join their cult even though i’m afraid, if they ask nicely enough, i might say yes. i talk to the other drunk at the bar like do you think god believes in himself? He hands me a chip.

from the platform, someone asks
where is this going?
from the tracks, two q-trains answer
with horns that sound like
i'm yours, i’m yours, i’m yours, but
when one pulls in
the other pulls away.