Dear Diary,
As of today, I am officially a registered Republican
Now before you freak out, let me explain…
It’s finally happened!
I am in love! In love!
I can’t stop thinking about her…her rich auburn hair
Sensuous lips, smooth, silky voice…
She is an ambrosial goddess
Ahhhh just to say her name
Michelle…Michelle…
It’s because of her, I have become a Republican
Michelle has opened my eyes to so many things!
For instance, this country really was founded on Christian values!
Separation of church and state…that’s just crazy talk
Oh, and climate change? Forget about it!
But most importantly, Michelle helped me see that ALL lives matter
Michelle is very involved in her community
Why, just yesterday, we handed out boxes
Full of bootstraps to the poor
I gave my Birkenstocks
To Bernie Sanders…
Michelle says that nothing turns her on more than a man who wears crocs
And I am embarrassed to admit this….
I would only tell you, Diary
But She’s really into **** ***,
Michelle says it’s not ****** if it’s a man and a woman
And with her husband’s gay conversion camps, she would know
Come to think of it,
Nothing is a sin for a Republican
As long as you don’t get caught
So, there you have it, I have abandoned my socialist and Jewish roots
Do I have regrets?
Well, maybe sometimes,  
When Michelle talks about cutting veterans benefits
For a fleeting moment I recall how it felt
To take care of each other and to love people unconditionally
But then I think I sound like ******* flake
Twirling crystals and prisms or some stupid ****
I do like the idea of legalizing marijuana, though
But my change of heart and this whole Donald Trump thing is not my fault,
There are a limited number of seats open on this love train
I mean…
let’s be real, ok? Americans want epic battles and
Dad never smites people anymore,
Whatever happened to a good old fashioned smiting?
The way I see it, as long as Michelle doesn’t figure out that I am not white,
She and I are golden.
Anyway, thanks for listening diary,
I gotta go…Michelle and I are getting matching Jesus fish tattoos
I know, the irony, right?

His mouth was a nuclear leak
     (he fried his brain when he was 17)
And I can’t get the burning toxins off my skin
     (and that is as far as he ever grew up)
Some of them have seeped in deeper, I can
     (he’s amused by stick figure animation)
Hear them rupture the seams of my insides
     (and the shuffling photos of his obsessions;)
My brain thankfully, is still intact
     (his car, his clothes, his kids…and me)
Fighting this fight heroically
     (my god, to be one of his children)                                      
Anxiously looking over my shoulder
     (he can’t keep a nanny for very long)
Refuting his demeaning accusations
     (no one stays in his life who is not on payroll)
******* Narcissist
     (but even they all quit eventually)
Still forgiving myself for letting it happen
     (oblivious that his entourage disrespects him)
This antithesis-of-me-toxic-bath
     (he is incapable of giving or deserving trust)
Disdained my beliefs and philosophies
     (he still wishes he had his mullet of 1986)
Demanded my selflessness without return
     (and the older woman he ****** in high school)
Reduced me to dismissible arm candy;
     (immature alcoholic tantrums lie just)
The missing feature of his pride
     (below the surface of every conversation)
And I can’t shake this feeling
     (which speak exclusively of himself and his many impulses)
That I have truly met evil face to face
     (or the stupidity of humanity who serve his whims)
Afraid to realize how narrowly I escaped  
     (his highest dream is to own a personal servant)  
Except for the residue
     (explains his demands clearly and concisely)
Adhering like burned on soap ****
     (believes money and a big **** make him a man)
I feel like he will never, ever really be gone
     (his reptilian brain controls every move)
That he will still try to own me or make me
     (“I don’t want to be an *******, I’m just really good at it”)
Pay for refusing to surrender my soul
     (funny, those words almost make me feel sorry for him)

Even though it’s new
the wires of your cage door
still rattle.
Cold inside, you demand
a constant 71 degrees.
Pop and techno
hit me in the face
like that puff of air
at the eye doctor:
                  jarring
distracting
                     slightly painful.

Peculiar keepsakes on display;
like that odd family photo
ridiculously large
lunging its welcome
from the foyer wall.
Your plump daughters wearing ringlets
and uncertain smiles
hang between your
arrogant head.
                                         You.
              Everywhere.
A shrine.

We sit outside with mixed drinks
you talk about your neighbor
the sushi king and how
this neighborhood
means you’ve irrevocably arrived.
Meanwhile, I am bored.
                Terribly

                            terribly
bored.  

You keep talking,
although I was not
finished with that
                          sentence
                  yet.

I am watching your words
drop like dead leaves
you point at them with one hand
and cover my mouth
with the other
But getting drunk,
laid, and rich
are not my super powers.
And I can’t dumb
my vocabulary
down
                        any lower.  
              

I turn to look
at the front door behind us
and nearly choke on the
claustrophobia
in my throat.
It’d be a really great offer
               if I didn’t have a soul.
Water from your lawn
runs down
the cul-de-sac
lined with desolate
         cages.
I escape to the driveway
where my gas gauge
is empty
but my wings?
My wings
              are fully extended.

There is a fine line between enabler and friend,
my bed sheets are always covered with ash.
But this story only works for about a month
after that I’m just repeating myself.
My eulogy said I donated my organs
the day I was born, the day and died and…nothing
so she wouldn’t be ashamed of my wretched life.
But I’ve been feeding flies with embalming fluid for years
we’re all born with a death sentence, baby
I am not the first, and at least I made it interesting.
Hidden among chairs filled with the saved
are the tatted, strung out and pierced people
and three angry women in the front row, boldly
Loud enough to tell my mom it’s her fault
Loud enough to tell homophobes that I was bi-******
Loud enough to tell the church that I think god is *******
That preacher talked faster and over them
but I wanted a scene
because if anyone ******* really cared
they would want to know the truth that
my worth was not singularly seen in my art, and
that deathbed conversion was merely fiction.
Funny how my last hurrah on earth was yours, mom
my life story told by the uncle who
dispenses guilt dissolving pellets
and the born again preacher whom I never even met.
While my true friends raged and cried in their seats
waiting for an invitation that never came.
Was that song part of this big distraction?
Half the heads nodded in approval
but the few clenched their fists and shook,
and I love them for that
and for all the times they had my back.
For the time they tried to get me into re-hab
and the time they pulled my car out of the ditch in the rain.
Thank you for not pretending I was something you wanted me to be
for loving the good beneath my ****** scented brilliance
***-up passed out in the bathroom
crawling into strange beds.
Let that preacher say whatever makes you feel better, mom
with the message that talks about Jesus instead of  me.
There was more oxygen in the needle than in your womb
and we both know one air bubble can spell disaster
so save your breath for someone who doesn’t
hang crosses
around
already hung necklines.

I am shivering and pinned
against the back of the couch.
Sixty watts of failed
compensation for heat.  

My leg aches
from the lack of circulation
but I can’t move
because you are snoring
with my thigh on your cheek.
and my hair in your mouth.

A pitch black drunken fall
found your terror
between my legs,
sedatives and obsessions.
This ethos defines you.

I remain awake, in exhilaration and discomfiture.

No one knows where I am and
we don’t know who we are. Tall grass and wind, far away.
A dark drive for the taste of nicotine and vanilla.
We both breathe a little faster when our hug lasts too long.

Reminiscing perfume of sulfur and hay,
I long for the revolver
with its pretty and its smoking
and the way you tried to hide
your smile watching me.  

Your hand felt warm,
and your words felt soft
as you tried to explain
why you won’t leave
and I tried to explain why I would.

Fear claimed me when you drove
too close to the shoulder
Stirring your words with serrated fury
that I am everything
you have ever wanted
but you cannot control your viper.

I like you better the first half of the bottle
when gentle and uninhibited
are still together.

Convinced that you need it
in order to touch me
but you don’t, really,
touch me that is
and I don’t

because your strange celibate
allegiance
to the her  
leaves me wondering,
what the hell am I doing here?

Persons within you, sane and not
debate aloud;
panic or deliverance?

Desperately pleading
for my comfort
but you won’t look into my eyes
when I hold you.

Yes, you said all those things out loud,
including the two times
you murmured that you love me

The admission I have craved
still, you stayed behind
because recurring paranoia
broken arms and mended promises
are your everyday life.

Eyes of gods upon my
Every move.

I have nothing to hide. Such
Sweet freedom to

Stand for your every sin and
Uncencored secret.  

Back straight, and perfectly
Human.

Attachments have beckoning powers
Louder in a whisper than the memory of my words
They’ll exchange sleepy smiles in the morning light  
     Who am I to believe I can step into history
     Flutter my wings and change the outcome?