The wolf watches and asks me questions:
can I watch you eat,
watch myself absorb into you,
play with the cancer.

She questions everything:
even if I want to live,
die now or die later,
although that is
unanswerable or unquestionable.

That is the statement
life wants, love needs
in its haste to sweep up the ashes.
It wishes to be recognized.

I don’t know, I think,
knowing the wolf can hear me—
life, love, everything, everyone too.  

The answer is somewhere
on the drive to Graceland
as I stop to watch
the wolf suckle its cubs.

Maybe I just want a good death
that makes it hard to grieve
among the ashes of Nagasaki.

Life always wants the tableau,
the memento mori to remember
the repetitions.

Inside the wolf I can hear
my mother, grandmother, ex,
soon my father screaming,
moving, just going down, down, down….
into the silent cry of memory.

The wolf looks comfortable and wordless
as she listens to worlds turned to juice inside.
“It was good to know you,” she said,
as if she had known me my entire life.

Pondering upon an existence
Because I exist I can ponder
What if I uploaded my conciousness
And somehow synced ourselves, I wonder

i found so many things under the stairs

boxes of my potential


boxes of my procrastination


boxes of all the threads i have stitched and unraveled

                                                                                        stitched
                                                                                                    and
                                                                                                         unraveled
                                              

    sure
     determined
      i tied all the knots



  frustrated
        less than
         I cut them all out



these threads bind me

  but to who?


a carefully packed self

under the stairs


each  time
         i arrive
            the boxes open  
                   the boxes remain
                         i will leave them when i go

these threads bind me
to the
questioning

Fear of them, I fear them,
No not men, just the idea of them,
Actually no, the idea I quite like;
It’s the non-real reality that scares me,
Terrorises me just a little if I stop to think.
No it’s not men, it’s just people.
Maybe it’s all just my social anxiety,
Talking to me again in a slightly different way,
I mean, I know anxiety can change but it doesn’t, not for me:
I know me,
I just don’t know what I’m scared of really.

I can’t believe I dare to write this,
Go away Chloe, just shut yourself up inside again,
Then you won’t have to think about anyone.
Well that’s a lie, I think about people all of the time;
The people I could have, the people I won’t, people I wish existed but I sadly know never will
(I convince myself they will anyway),
And when they’re not real, I’m not afraid -
Because I’m not afraid,
I started this all up as a game.
Did someone ever tell you, you should never read lists of phobias you know you don’t have?
Well I’m telling you, don’t. You might get some.

But do you ever daydream of your perfect soul mate?
Because then I think of guys, like: real guys that actually do exist
And then I’m just like no, no I’ll stay away,
Not today, not tomorrow, I’m not ready.
Then I realise I’ll never be ready.
I’ve noted the slow progression of “could you really be scared of that Chloe? Sounds pretty stupid.”
So I’m like no, no I can’t be,
And then I get these little feelings sometimes,
Which makes me kind of go, “really are you?”
But I’m not because:
That wouldn’t make sense
And
People who know nothing on the internet say that’s sexist without knowing what they mean.
If someone actually had a phobia of the opposite *** or gender it wouldn’t be their fault, because it’s a ****** phobia.

I don’t have phobias though, not one.
Maybe social anxiety, maybe another one, maybe I’m getting one more,
But really I must just be exaggerating.
I know it’s not a phobia - that’s not what I’m claiming,
But when I imagine having a reality where...
Well it just kind of scares me.

Today has risen,
A new era and decision,
What will fate give me?

10.30.17

What to do?
You think me confused?
But, I’m as sure as can be baby.

Why can’t you see
that this is just the way I was meant to be?
I’m not condemned for the choices that I make,
or those that I don't make.
I’m not going to hell,
For the people with who I've laid beside.

But still, you’re all so full of hate
For a lifestyle that I can’t help
But partake….in.

I’m just trying to get by,
Like every other human being I pass by.

I’m not shy,
I am proud of who I am.
I’m not ashamed, of who I let in my heart.
Man,
Woman,
Gender-*******-fluid.
Or someone in between.

We are not the Devil’s advocate.
We're not bathed in sin.

And no, we are NOT trying to
To make you like this.

What exactly it is that you want?
Life, or death
The end or the breath?
Or you just want none
You only wish to be drawn
In the holy waters of the middle
Standing in the very deep
To be numb but also to feel
Hear the breezes of the tears
No chaos is here, there's nothing to deal
Nothing to worry and nothing to bear
Water caresses you like you're a child of her
Nothing to exclude and nothing to despair
Nothing to repress and nothing to depress
But in the meantime, your lungs got full
Water caressed you and now she's hugging you inside
Don't blame her, she only wants to become one
with you, with me, with them and with all
No not the sorrow, she wants to give you peace
But in a sudden you start fighting like a beast
You are a monster! She doesn't want you any least!
You are disgusting, you throw up while she's given you a feast!
You're mad, you scream, you swim!
You swim till it's the top that you reach
You're born now, born again, the air gives you pain
Your eyes all are blurry there's nothing that you can see
You only hear and it is now the tears of your own
They run down like they miss where they were from
Then your vision recovers but your mind feels heavy
You didn't miss this place then why did you come here?
Again? To the place which is giving you pain
Constant pain, endless fights, sinful thoughts!
What is it? What is it that you want?
Then it hits you, now you know the answer
You just want it
all
The all that can be given

You basked in the wide stares of seeking glaze,
in the sensual touch,
that could be felt from the most vast distances,
your clocks of youthful imaginations,
spun the ticks of all that could become between you,
just from a gaze of two strangers that lasted a second,
but sometimes felt like fate deciding minutes.

Whether it was upon the street passing a slight bump between you,
or the man in the library who picked up one of your favorite books,
a stranger...a friend...or an acquaintance that made you smile once,
a person your age,
or a man who maybe had more years carved into his structure,
the thought expressed within you at that exact moment,
was always a fantasy of love that one day you hoped be reality.

But somewhere a foggy area between the past and the present,
the framework ticked dramatically into a newer vision that,
dulled but quickened the senses,
that lock of eyes that made blushed cheeks,
that engineered the warm shiver that went from head to feet,
altered in a way that made once curling toes,
walk faster with rushed speed.

In that grey area between the past and present...somewhere,
made those seeking eyes become one of a predator,
those Eden loving dreams turned into warning images,
of dark alleyways,
footsteps that climbed up your spine in the night,
torment of a stolen body

I wonder when you changed,
when did those cute half smiles become signs of future blood,
of bleeding out if you returned the slightest hint,
was it growth?
was it knowledge of the world?
or was it experiences?
what was it?

What made those locked eyes go from 'plans'
to..."what the hell is he planning"