When I was eight, I threw a rock at my cat.
I wanted something to love me, and he
didn't. Unfamiliar with rage and unskilled
at throwing rocks, I missed and hit the fence.
I was and am ashamed of this.
I wasn't that kind of kid.

Once, a boy sent me photos from Scotland,
daybreak over  the snowy moors where he
hunted grouse with his father. He was skinny,
and sweet. I stopped writing him because I
had a thousand words for love, and he
couldn't spell any of them.

And once, I took your love for granted. It was vanity;
I felt like the lost works of a prolific master.
I wanted someone to delight in discovering me,
to wonder where I had been. It was easy to
blame you; all those years and you didn't
know what you had.

If you believe in all possible universes,
I aimed for the fence and hit the cat.
I married a sweet, skinny boy who will never
love a poem. I never had anything to prove
and I don't need you to forgive me.

Answers already inside me
Guess I’ve been digging in the wrong place
Fortunes lost and the years have forgot them
A tiny place somehow still breathing on the inside
No more nights alone …
No … this time we’ll add the day
All this walking with no purpose
Seems I’m dragging the feet of my youth
And all I wanted was some truth
A place to call my own
A world that left me alone
A pair of eyes I could hide in from time to time
And maybe there I could find
Something I’ve left behind
Something I can’t seem to re-create
A feeling surpassing all feeling
A longing to dance with this life
To be bold and even take the lead
This is where I want to be
These are the things I need

- Jack Piatt

When I was younger,
a moment of existential
panic would have my
buttons coming undone
for boys who didn't care why
but sure loved how.

I'm more beautiful now,
less given to panic, and I
undress for you like this:
one story at a time –  a
metaphoric bump and grind.
I shimmy out of all my lies.