You
Yes, you
You’re not supposed to know
About the parts of my body that shiver
With pleasure at the purchase of a glossy Spider-Man comic

And
You
You’re not allowed to know
How I want to dig my fingernails into
My brain matter when it’s racing light-years ahead of my emotions

And
You
You’re a stranger who shouldn’t hear
How I jettison ideas like bullets, poetry like shrapnel
In hopes that it will hit someone’s beating heart and make it bleed

And
You
You’re not obliged to absorb
My metaphors for how martyring it is to be alone
And truthfully how much more terrifying it is to belong to someone

You
Yes, you
You’re not allowed to read this
Barrage of brokenness if you found it under my bed, only
When I whirl it in cyberspace, shotgun-like, to blast you in the face

Yes
I said
You’re not allowed to read this
But truthfully?
All poets lie.