he still spells your name with an "i" instead of a "y"
even though you're the one who fixed it in his contacts the day you watched him write it down.
it doesn't matter.
it's just a small mistake.  
just like the one you made this morning when you didn't realize you were being asked a question.  
not being able to distinguish your name at the beginning of a sentence when you're not looking for errors.
responding to his text messages.
typing out his name.
tracing back over red lines.
he might not be able to spell your name but he takes the time to spell out:
Baby instead of Babi.
**** instead of Sexi.
Easy instead of Easy.
Lying instead of Lieing to you.
and now you're starting to see the world through his "i"'s.
so you'll stop reminding him.
stop asking "y"

Dear Ellie,
I was only serious when I said to send postage.
Your mother's tongue dries around the cats you brought off the streets
and your brother stole the room you'd rather gaslight.
I can still see you riding in on street corners whose light never concerned you,
so you won't have to make the bed you never sleep in.
I was only speaking when I said goodbye, tuned in and out by the radio wires wrapped inside your skull.
Your visits bring back more than packages wrapped in twine.

Walking on stilts and stepping over homeland;
you must grow dizzy from the way the world spins.

We were bred in nuclear captivity
Raised behind the safety of stained glass.

We learned to follow the leaders,
memorize the Billboard Top 30,
sleep on apparently royal mattresses,
make love in forest green colored cages,
make money by counting other people's money,
track the number of times our feet hit the pavement,
and then die on a 700 dollar couch.

Still unable to believe in a god other than this one.

We don't trust the rich man with our money,
and we don't trust the homeless man either.
So maybe money has nothing to do with it.

tonight I'll steep my tears in tea bags
and listen as the kettle shrieks
burning my tongue
and warming my teeth
salted chamomile send me to sleep

my hair
is stuck down in the drain
wetting my dress
and drying my veins

my skull
it grew in too late
making me spin
in a hellscape of hate

nothing's the same
and everything's great

my hands
are shedding their nails
waving goodbye
to blood on the trails

my legs
cannot hold their weight
my bones look the same
as the ones on my plate

nothings's the same
and everything's great

my chest
it knocks and it shakes
pinning me down
how low can it take

my corpse
should rot in a case
inside of the flesh
where I used to be safe

nothings the same
i'm going to faint

We never stopped inflicting
The wounds our grandparents gave us
They withheld the inventing
Despite dulled knives
And cold summers
Running their course through weakened veins
And softening our skin into old newspaper