you carry the film camera I bought you
clenched between your teeth where you keep
all the rest of the cavities I gifted to you
falling out from the gap between my legs
underneath the piano painted coffee table
staring directly into the vinyl sunlight until
it starts to burn like its the fourth of July
when I'm there and the temperature is right
I don't want to have to blow it out
I left with the skin still on my teeth
so I'll come back in order to rip it off
are you satan testing me , too?

her hair is longer than I realized
and it smells familiar
my stomach feels off as I
stare at the posters on the walls
because I’m not sure where to look
(she’s so naked as am I)
I decide the top of her head is fine
then I decide to let my heart
murmur which I've been
avoiding since they diagnosed me at 7
but I'm exhausted and orgasming
really takes so much out of me
I decide I’ll only do it three more times
then I decide just this once

I do it all again the next night
because I’m trying to live my life
that doesn’t fully explain my reasoning but it’s all I have to offer
there’s dozens and dozens of
different versions of her and I
want to put it into writing that I
only ever liked two of them
I’ve never before liked each and
every part of a person
I've also never even been
close to admitting that
so I think this is at least one
part progress poem

she’s playing with a kid and I know
it’s supposed to turn me on but it’s
just making me feel physically ill
I wear my bathing suit bottoms
as underwear
she texts me that she’s not
even ******* wearing any
I’ll sleep in her bed if I want
to only because
there’s not really a point to
sleeping in mine
it'd be nice if I wanted to,
but I don't
so I go home

she chain smoked her entire
pack of american spirits
lying completely naked on
her ***** nylon carpet
I realized about halfway in
that I didn't want to touch her
I turned to my left to a shrine
of Joan Jett and then
I choked on her **** piercing
for the very last time
she got upset and tried to
question what went wrong
for the first time in my life
I just shut the **** up
because blaming it on her
star sign felt too insensitive

each time I can’t get you off my mind
I remember you can’t get me off at all
sometimes I want you to know that I
intentionally drove to your house that day
I wanted you to hate me as much as I hate you
and you still take depression naps
and I still take all of the side streets
now I have a new sense of purpose
and you have a car payment

I feel so alone but so held at the same time
as if it’s the moon that’s trying to talk to me
why have I always had pivotal moments
while staring directly at telephone wires?
to this day I’ve lived six different lives
and I have no plans to stop evolving
coins still fall from parts of me wherever I go
it never had anything to do with you at all

if you go at someone else’s pace it shows you care
which is ******* insightful and I learned it from ***
I remember the smell of your mother’s house anytime
I’m clean so I stopped showering and doing dishes
my roommate rolls her eyes each time but I’m
just as ***** as I’ve always wanted to be
I rarely ever miss you and when I do it’s fleeting
I keep having dreams where my hair is to my knees
I know how to stand up straight and
you’re still just as small as I left you

you look at the bartender vacantly and
order a double Jameson shot
because you hate everything about yourself
I know this because I watch
but only to see the glass shatter

the bathroom of this bar smells like our love -
me, dressing in clothes that are easy to get off
tile that is stained with bile, cascade hops
a continuously leaking toilet and bright red walls

having my heart broken feels romantic, inherently, like
mourning, pleading, missing
it’s all just flirtation, ****** frustration
this is foreplay, these nights alone

I smell like **** and *** (same thing) showering
alone I noticed the age in his eyes, in his skin
in the way he scolded me, in the color of his teeth
and how I don’t think I’ve ever heard him say my name

there is nothing more ****** than the dial of a phone
there is nothing more enticing than two truths and a lie
I’m the most I’ll ever be the minutes after I come

I drive a different way home so
that I don’t have to see your face
I have a zero tolerance policy for
mourning these days and that’s ok
you make the same face when you’re
in pain that you do when you ***
I’ve forgotten what it feels like by now

and okay, so maybe you cheated on me
in this exact bar bathroom once
and okay, maybe I am ****** projecting
because that girl still talks **** about me
and I see myself as she does for a moment
and maybe it never actually has
absolutely anything to do with you! at all!
maybe that means you never mattered!
and maybe it smells like B/O and for
some reason that makes me nostalgic
nostalgic for times where i’d plug my nose
and still be able to find the smell
maybe we just ran out of things to say to each other
and maybe this time I’ll let that be enough

there’s a band playing and I feel happy
I park at Edith’s and walk through a no
outlet that I’ve never noticed before
I know where he takes them on his little dates
and sometimes I end up there too
but I swear it’s always organically
I hope you know I’d spit on the grave of my
boss who fired me without cause
I might ask the three year old to say ****
but I can’t fathom being so unjust

I’m going to figure out how to
pick up my instruments again
and that includes my ability to
open my mouth and speak
I’m going to stop expecting the worst
I might not remember what it feels like
but I do know that my taste buds work

It’s been sitting inside of my chest like TV static
for what feels like a lot longer than seven days
I’m picking at my skin because it keeps my hands busy!
I’m chewing on my cheek because it keeps my mouth busy!
I spend my time missing you because it keeps the rest of me busy!
the dull aches of solitude, of emptiness
have been weighing heavy on my shoulders
in the silence, in 2 pm’s with nothing to do
in menthol cigarettes to try to smoke less ****
in bar culture
and every room
and crevice
and person inside of my mother’s home
my cries used to fill my studio apartment
to the very last inch of its 200th square foot
I’m sorry that I tried to call you
I know you hate that
I don’t think you want to talk to me
It’s been sitting inside of my chest on repeat
ringing for what feels like weeks
I’ve slept with the TV on with nothing
playing for the past seven nights
because it makes me feel less alone

an old man with Alzheimers and a panic button
on his watch walks into the bar slowly
the bartender leans in, drops a napkin, presses the button
and looks the man in the eyes as he orders a diet pepsi
The man’s eyes shift every two seconds-
from the TV, to the bartender
to his watch, to his hands
to the TV, to the door
to his watch, to his hands
for seven minutes, record timing on her part-
an older woman in running shoes and a
visor rushes to his side
and whispers in his ear that he isn’t supposed to leave
she tries to pay, the bartender says no
they leave together hastily
she is ashamed, every time
but he is only confused