I want to be available
to the people who love me.
I want to be there
emotionally, physically, financially.
I want to be their shoulder
their crutch, their solace.
The person who does not drop anything.
I want to give the feeling
of lightness to every being walking this earth.
Every human, creature, and plant
as they grow up fast.
I want to be nutrition,
a steadfast superhuman
so unfazed, so cool-headed.

It infuriates me
that I'm not this person.
It should be so easy to give.
If I just get my **** together,
I've repeated on and off again
the last five years.
But somehow, I always manage
to waste enough time
to get there,
but late.
When I have nothing
left, a hollow person
someone gave too
many tries.

Still, the people I love
tell me I'm wise,
an angel body.
Like they must justify,
who I am,
the imposter
the transient,
always planning,
for when she can
run away again.

I hide away and my life is safe; no risk of wasting time.
in the dark, working late at night
it's not wasting time if you're productive right?
it's just getting by,
it's just the next try,
it's just the strength of your belief,
it's just getting in too deep,
it's just feeling alive,
it's just another coffee,
it just a sleepless night,
it's just missing your friends,
it's just forgetting your best friends
birthday, and then forgetting her
belated again.
it's just self-absorption.
it's just hot yoga at 6am.
it's just that it feels necessary,
to start and end the day
suffocated, yearning
for another next
another next
another day again next
another next another.
next another day
again next.

Hold up the glass menagerie
what do you see?
fragile pictures,
facets of a prism,
don't it reflect so beautiful?
the girls linking tattooed sleeves?
an armed hoodie resting casually
around her small, petite?
two creme frocks
gracing emerald pastures,
a marriage?
a fantasy?
what do you see?

It's 11 at night at the fast food joint and the fryer is on the fritz, sounding the alarm. No one seems to notice. Employees are spread thin and customers are waiting to take orders.

A child with brown hair
               and brown eyes
               and brown skin
carries his belongings
to a nearby
                     table.

I smile at the women taking my order,
complimenting her sweatshirt.
It is black.
She forces a smile.
I order a coffee.
I'm tired.
I also, have work to do,
but back in my apartment.
She asks if I want it
iced or hot.
I tell her hot.
She says ok.
But the receipt
says iced cause
I already paid.

in deep end,
dance!
free dominating
for sis.
chain germinating
per spec i've
been leaning in.