I love
--the candle--
the wick the fire
the lick of my hair with
the spit that holds it together
and I've been a radio never ending
counting the days of holding it-- forever
with hope
as wide as the ocean and I expand
as a blank state to be violated
tone deaf to my own cries

i am willful apart from my sore feet
weak and unresponsive
this frame upholds these acidic reactions
through the manifestation of the ejection
of my solemn protest

a cosmical request they ask for
drinking for a ****** later
***** splashes on a bathroom floor
privilege is a blessing not guaranteed
dancing on gravestones restless
upon poetic licenses and with composure aligned
towards the lines of our sky.

and I beg
I beg to be someone more exciting
I beg to accept my lies.