there's this pervasive idea
that love is needing someone,
that without them your world stops turning
and your lungs shrivel without air.

but i would rather
have someone wake up everyday
rising from their sleep and stretching
and smiling
and deciding to choose me.
i'm not their air, their atmosphere.
and they could go on if i was gone.
i want to be chosen
consistently and persistently
i want them to want to be here.

that choice
is our most definitive beauty.

I dye my hair to be different
from the person I was an hour ago.
I didn't like her very much.

I take a picture or two
to memorialize my new baptism
of peroxide and pigmentation.

The chemical smell fades and the new
becomes commonplace
and I'm back to the person that I was.

And I'm fraying like the ends of my hair
and splitting and breaking and I'm her again:
just as ugly as ever.

While there's no ink on any paper,
No clicking of keys to satisfy
the hunger of a page
My mind holds the ink and the clacking
Typing up inaccuracies
Drawing conclusions

Writing a fearful poem
Drenched in black ink and woe.

I have seen nothing
and I am even less
I have been here my whole life
Redundancy has a comfort to it
sometimes

But I have dreams
about climbing redwood forests
higher than any skyscraper
that have faces etched into their trunks
and dreams
of mushroom houses with neon skies
and being kidnapped by wolves and we howl and howl
Sometimes I even have lucid dreams of flying
walking through walls
and time travel
I have dreams of being a hero and saving the world
and there's a recurring one about falling in love with
a man I do not even recognize yet

So hopefully you can excuse me
for not always being ecstatic
when I wake up in the mornings
and find myself in a human bed

Thinking hard about you
I got on the bus
and paid 30 cents car fare
and asked the driver for two transfers
before discovering
that I was
alone.

A bubble.
That's where I want to hide myself.
That's where I want to stay, away from the world.
Immune to the outside, just in my little corner.

It is. I want to hide. Hide from Love.
I just don't want to get hurt.

I want to be immune of feeling.
Insensitive.
I want to be insensitive.
Able to live my day to day life without suffering,
With no pain, no love or no hate.
Without. Without loving.

Everything is so...
So rough.
I want everything around me be insignificant,
to me;
With no great expectations of the world.
Without thinking.
Without having to think.
How I wished I could just snap my fingers
And everything would by as I please.

There once was a boy from Nantucket,
who would rob and steal for them duckettes.

One day while ganking a purse,
he ended up on his back in a hearse.

Now Mama crys and wails at church,
while his boys pour 40's from where they perch.