it’s november when the meds kick in, it’s december when i feel human again. (or maybe, for the first time?)
i lack less. found an appreciation for something or another dug up in the front yard by a half-blind dog. appreciation for the living and the quiet small moments.
i used to know empathy, used to take her hands between mine in cut scenes but those were trembling eras of seconds, caught between an intensity i’ve since given away.
of being in love with wheat grass bet- ween high ways and
last bit of clouds eating sun like nectar in the rearview:
or sweet talking directly into his eyes at midnight, hearing a smile in the smoke that separates our houses.
cats with twigs and dirt swimming in their bellies. ghosts in the woods beyond my car, yowling at the full moon as if they were born to.
i now know the silence and warmth of sleep.
i exist alongside unfamiliar calm, a quaint silence that does not burn at the touch.
the world is almost softer almost lighter --
my skin is held to- gether with some thing more than glue.
i wonder if i was human the whole time.
re-wrote a poem i wrote half a year ago, i'm turning it in for a poetry class portfolio. honestly im gonna edit it again but this is the first edit for now. if i change anything major i'll probably put it here and edit it or maybe rework entirely. who knows~~~
literary food for thought. Self Mutilation (ah bet thar iz an app for that!) within unlit partial "FAKE abattoir" sans wardrobe alcove where dust bunnies didst allures completing a simple task among my never ending (Matthew's) list of domestic chores
this undertaking engaged thankfully while completely clothed, and scrounging on all fours nonchalantly picking up scattered detritus including food crumbs
potential critters hors d'oeuvres the spouse (ideally seated on this same swivel chair dashing off these lines
linkedin with this Macbook Pro) - housing at least four scores of word documents, she espied the cheeky opportunity that triggered many wars
within arms length the taut outline of me 'lil derriere - re: rear end temporarily dormant versus when flatulence roars -
posterior flank hie could not de fend she playfully poked her finger that didst dis send within close vicinity of sphincter, where ****** turgid business height tend
(most likely this husband not alone getting ***** twerked) inn me own coal less cents great movements got made jabbing ma *******
while i happened to be "blindly" groping upon darkly cutout cubby hole i.e. without wearing bifocals/ spectacles -
envision a human mole thus amply qualified her role to be literal and figurative pain in the *** vole,
where much to my horror a flash of red hot poker blind momentary rage, did lash out at me, when aye espied
a kitchen knife and acted rash (how cutlery got in closet floor a minor mystery and potential topic de jure
for another poem) to brandish sharp edge around abdominal area grabbed handle with left hand, thence commenced to slash
rhythmically thwacking wrist of right hand then quickly dropped sharp implement (as like a man momentarily possessed) before rendering permanent harm with a river of blood to wash.