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i’ve decided that i will write
about you the way frida
wrote about diego
i love you and i wish
you never existed
I can see connections
But I often can't explain
It's not only in my mind
But it is bipolar brain

St. Bruno the Carthusian
Stephen King in Maine
Silent Daoist hermits
The Man of La Mancha, Spain

Wendy in the silence
Mad but not insane
My postcards to Alex
Ride the Tucson Train

Soren Kierkegaard
Melancholy Dane
Help me reach the single one
Miles Morales y Lois Lane

           I am a window pane.
It's autumn, and you still lie,
It's not by saying you're now someone else,
That you've changed at all.
You're taking new nicknames, and inventing new lies,
But they're all so rotten, and so familiar.
I thought you'd be the one to save me from myself,
maybe you also need help.
I slacked off all day
so tomorrow I’ll work my
fingers to the bone.
You are the bell
That will always ring in my heart
I will listen to your sound always 
And wish it never ends
i am
just like you
i
cannot tell if i'm sober or not
i'm going to fade out
rolling
i'm everything you wanted of me
bleach'y curls
and a peachy grin
mom don't you love me now
are you watching me from your spot in hell?
it's just me, you
and everyone else
it's just my borderline
and your substacne abuse
the energy drinks, caffeine
nicotine
and thc
momma i found the song you used to sing to me
i'm
just like you, still
a lost momma's boy
she used to sing me strawberry wine by deana cater
You grew up
on the side of the road,
between sidewalk cracks,
in backyards full of
tall bahia grass,
pushing aside their
stems so you could
find the sky.

You grew up
beneath the sun
and out in the rain
and under every
booming thunderstorm
an Alabama summer
could throw your way.

Dogs ran through you.
Men, too, trampled you
but you sprung back up,
rumpled, but still bright,
unbowing, even when
they said you were just
a gangly **** that no
one would find beautiful.

(I found you beautiful,
because your face was
the sun, and I find it
everywhere.)

You grew up.
You had to grow up,
grew white and fragile
and one day the wind
came for you and
carried you away.

Fly far.
This poem and more can be found at the author's website, http://gabrielgadfly.com
I have put a Worry Eater
on your bookshelf, right
beside your favorite books.
It may look like a simple
wooden box, but don’t be
fooled: it is a Worry Eater
and the disguise is just
so random visitors will
not know what it is and
try to take it from you,
because Worry Eaters
are very rare and coveted
things.

I would think the name
should be self-explanatory,
but you must feed it daily
in order to keep your
Worry Eater happy and full.
Feeding it is simple:
open the lid and whisper
your worries in, or write them
on little scraps of paper —
lined college-ruled will do,
but the margins of old poems
make a special treat if you
want to do something nice
for your Worry Eater.
(I’ve heard that diner napkins
and the backs of grocery-store
receipts add a nice flavor, too.)

Some people may tell you,
“Don’t worry, everything will
be alright,” but these people
do not have a hungry
Worry Eater waiting at home,
so you can just smile coyly
at them and say, “Yes,
you’re right,” and then go home
and whisper your secret worries
to your secret Worry Eater.
This poem and more can be found on my website, http://gabrielgadfly.com
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