dear mom it’s your fault i miss you i wish you knew each piece of each morsel of my heart beat more than these pieces of paper do.
they embody my body language scattered sporadic mislabeled man and mishandled like me with the three i speak fluently incompetent and ineffective ly. suffixes that suffocate me as ***-backwardly i awkwardly demean when i mean to seek through them the clarity you misperceive.
i couldn’t tell you why i’m me or how i came to be the part of we you’d rather weep over as does one with the dis-ease of a disease that precedes the deceased.
weep not over me justifiably just if i believe it’s not i you bereave.