I write with a pink Bic now

My phone is white and out of storage and I’m not connected to the
   cloud because it freaks me out, so every time I delete a picture, she
   asks “are you sure?” And I “delete anyway”
My high school best friend’s cousin’s husband just died and I’m
   wondering why I’m weeping for a kin I never grew akin to, a mere
   stranger, a subtle blip in my matrix. But his poetry
   is beautiful, I know that. And his music is beautiful, I know that.
I drank a root beer float tonight and the night before, or did I eat it? It
   reminded me of buying 99 cent slushes at Convenient. Or the
   “healthy” slushes I bought to accompany my soft pretzel everyday
   in middle school.
On the terrace, everyone else ate hot dogs and I looked down,
   holding my soggy French fries and wondering what else there is out
   there besides ketchup and mustard: like in Princess Diaries when
   Julie Andrews puts mustard on her corndog. I always thought
   that was so cool.
Or when Mia Thermopolis sit sideways in her giant comfy chair after
   throwing darts at balloons filled with paint aka “stupid cupid stop
   picking on me” or is it… “hitting on me”
Remember when Ben Day asked for pictures and when you sent cute
   selfies in your sports bra, he responded, “okay, but can they not be
   of your face?”
Or when Ben Wilson taught you that “hurt people hurt people” and
   had “ultra conservative” on his Facebook page underneath political
   views and you had go ask what that meant. I Corinthians 1:13 or
   something like that was always my favorite bible verse because its
   the only one I ever learned by heart.
Hail Satan.
We all rot under late capitalism.
But I didn’t know that then. I know that now, but not then.
Now I wonder mostly about the ethics behind “procreating.” I wanna
   bear fruit, but I can’t even stand the thought of myself burning in a
   fiery pit, let alone my spawn.
But,
My stepsister is pregnant. She found out the “gender” today, “boy.”
   My nieces and nephews have had a very gendered upbringing, I
   guess I did too: barbies and bratz and Betty spaghetti.
I know everyone always says they just want a “healthy, happy baby”
But I have a crippling nicotine addiction and manic depression, I’m
   not healthy or happy.
Do you think I was the idea my parents pictured when my mom peed
   on that stick and got a plus sign?
Probably not.
I hate to disappoint.
They can live in the glory days when my cursive handwriting was
   better than anyone else’s in my second grade class. Olivia Layne
   Ulmer on that brown, dotted, lined paper.

With a yellow no.2 pencil.

dreadfully and drearily so she picked around her nose where her ring used to be

full of dead and destruction she ripped out pages of John 3.16, where her crown chakra used to feel free

wistfully wishing for her black jeans with a string instead of a zipper; she now wears a gown

wondering why, she contemplates in her midnight blue constellation journal: to down-
right mortify me,

to make a mockery, to….to, to…. to…. find me in case I pull the fire alarm and try to escape

she puts together puzzles with her mother’s name in cursive in the bottom right corner and puts them together with tape

begrudgingly so she ties up the used new balance sneakers she borrows and moans

she wants to move her body, for her form has been stagnant, oh how she wishes to roam

jogging, running, sprinting from the wolves to the butterflies and bunnies

painting a stain glassed window as a holy shrine to The Queen of The Goths, she’s so spunky

wondering where her soul’s mate could be in a blizzard this thick

but she knows she’s been a real witch, flying into her alter ego’s psyche on a broomstick

if she can infiltrate her reflection in the mirror she’ll catapult into outer space

although, around her neck, she’d much rather wrap a shoelace

In five days time, 120 hours, 7,200 minutes, not only does the doggy door open,

so does the front door, who had the key? Will the door be closing?

Jogging, running, sprinting from the eyes of the doctor to the arms of the unbroken

My feet are swollen

My hands need lotion

My thoughts are golden

I am coping

He is coping

We are coping

They are unbroken

Over a basket of fish and chips, I realize I was chosen

Is that a ****** up notion?

I just don’t want to feel hopeless

Is this excess of energy a bad omen?

Back in the free world now, I’m so scared of my spirit being stolen

But my energy is as vast as the ocean and potent

I win, I win, I win !

But the imperialists are closing

In

i like my body when it is with your
body. It is so quite new a thing.
Muscles better and nerves more.
i like your body.  i like what it does,
i like its hows.  i like to feel the spine
of your body and its bones,and the trembling
-firm-smooth ness and which i will
again and again and again
kiss, i like kissing this and that of you,
i like, slowly stroking the,shocking fuzz
of your electric furr,and what-is-it comes
over parting flesh….And eyes big love-crumbs,

and possibly i like the thrill

of under me you so quite new

I expected the spaces left to shrink
I thought my body'd forget your square shape
I hoped my holed heart wouldn't be left agape
Boldly naive, a baby dressed in pink
I hate you for leaving me stuck to think
You were the only one here not an ape
I don't want to patch my canyon with tape
But no choice I have, you left in a blink
Now, it's my duty to bat my lashes
First to mop the crystal geyser of tears
Secondly, coquettishly-over to him
Who he is matters not, only passion.
Hotel? Motel? I'm sick of these affairs.
Alone, I must remain-with him in Grimm.

Did you forget all of me was inside you?
I only used your holes for my spare parts
At first-until each ounce I extracted
Now, looking in the mirror asking-who?
I think I lost myself inside of you
I can't retrieve now that you've retracted
You've broken me with your breach of contract
I used to see color, now only blue.
Love or life, I wonder which is the greater loss?
Is ownership a prerequisite of grief?
If so, my pain I am not entitled.
Although relieved I am of albatross
I'm now racked with curs'd thoughts of that thief
Alone, sans my resource for survival.