i say you don’t know me
so you parrot back too many back and forths to count
you have this favorite and i have one different
you remember this one time and i remember another
you have these few problems and i’ve worked through them prior
but you don’t watch when my eyes are closed
or when i’m turned away in imagined solitude
you know things, moments, memories
about me but you don’t know me
you’ve never cared enough to know me
and i know this cause i know you
and i’ve been you and i love you and i want you dead

is a walking contradiction not a contradiction of himself
if i wake up in the morning more tired than before sleep did i rest or just close my eyes
if i’m having the time of my life whilst also the worst sense of what else is going wrong did i feel or just watch it float by
if i’m alive and numb am i really still breathing
i am this walking contradiction you cower from
close you eyes and face the sun
but watch as it rises and sets

i’m so happy i wave at myself in the mirror in wonder
i wonder when the bags underneath my eyes began to look so heavy they might rip
i wonder why my wrists and elbows look so fragile surrounded by my own fingertips
i wonder where all my sadness has gone to im so happy
im so happy my sadness has taken root in other parts of my body
my brain so overcome by happiness all other emotions take a back seat to it
but i can feel my own ailments crawling and climbing their way under my skin and through my veins
limbs grow heavier day by day as wrists grow smaller and smaller
while joints get stiffer second by second taunting my attempts to move
i’m so happy my sadness is practically stuck gum on the bottom of someone else’s shoe
so happy my sad becomes someone else’s problem
one i can always look back and check on and choose to forget
i’m so happy i’m sad
i remember songs of sweet sorrow and sob silently
when was the last time my sorrow ceased before tomorrow

light another bowl and then run away
smoke a little more become my sweet escape
i think if i could i would be gone all day
sit down, stand up, pass out, wake up
i do it all the same

green leaves sporting brown rings
followed by the last breath of summer breeze
one by one the boots come out at night
and sleeves come into sight

there is no intricate ritual just the touching of flesh
tension torn down by tips of tongues, lips, and lungs
the way men touch far from simple yet too at ease for intricacy
are we practiced in pretending or have we become masters of intimacy

body to chin
fingers to strings
toe to floor he plays
and then he plays some more
right up til they close the door.
for when they close the door he plays no more.