I quietly experiment with my life.
No one needs to know.
The feeling of the glowing light
in a dark room all alone.
Wishing for you.
Wishing for exercise.
Wishing for inspiration
outside of the frame,
the page,
the screen.
Anxious about my shaved head,
my protruding ribs,
and childlike body.
Anxious what you'll think,
what they'll think...
afraid to go outside;
afraid of nothing.
Manic.
Afraid to talk to anyone.
Suddenly feeling the urge
to email my grandmother
and ask her about
the anonymous weight of people
who refuse to get off me,
and then hate myself
for sounding like a
hipster war-victim.

I stand still,
and they push me in circles.
Circles of friends, lovers,
and kindred spirits
who think I'm too much.
I hold hands and look away.
Close my eyes while they **** me.
Avoid their kisses and remarks,
devoid of attachment.