I wish I didn't care so profoundly for people,
for the hair curls and the leftover Crest Strips.
Or the unnoticeable stack of old Metro Passes
piling over your Hilary Clinton autobiography.

I wish I could tell myself to be more numb,
like I had been for the past year and a half.
Listening to my own advice and shaking voice,
instead of making time I don't have left.

I wish I could be more sure of my rocking self.
Tell you my sweet limited edition offerings,
things I didn't have three years ago.
Version one me, smaller and idealistic.

I wish I didn't come with so much precaution tape,
all the needs of someone too ****** up.
A series of trauma responses and consequential ideation,
more tickets on the dash than the cost of the car.

Why bother paying?