daddy fractured our world,
titled it off it’s axis, sent it
careening out of control.
that was before the day
his own impairment
made him overcorrect,
****
the mercedes onto unpaved
shoulder, then back
across two lanes of traffic,
and over the double yellow
lines, head-on into traffic.
that was before the one-ton
truck sliced the passenger
side wide open. that was
before premature death, battered
bodies, and scars no plastic
surgeon could ever repair.
yes, that was before

to overcorrect
the subtitle
of touch

give him
a moment-

then
just as he
whether he’s
a him
or a her

lifts
the temporary
tattoo
of light

say

you’d stay
but your pain
needs you.

if you can, for me.

you’ve so much
to miss
doing.

I am my parents’ worst nightmare and a blessing in disguise. My father says I am exercise for his mind. I love verbal defense. I love creating backstories and plucking reasoning out of thin air like a magician who pulls rabbits out of his hat. Verbal defense is an art, you see. It consists of passionate testimonials, backed by evidence, and so many ******* loopholes. I have mastered this art down to a T.

I ask that you imagine me complexly. I hate that you think you know me based off of a few things you’ve seen. No two people ever view the same thing. I believe you don’t know me. You can pinpoint a couple of my likes, my dislikes, but you don’t know the songs I sing when I’m alone. They’re not all sad, you know. But sometimes they are. You don’t know why or what or how. You don’t know that my favorite things are too far away from my grasp and they’re always so ******* hard to find yet I keep looking.

Imagine me complexly and maybe you’ll see something new. I know what it’s like to look at the world through scratched lenses. I know that after a while, you get a headache from trying to overcorrect what you’re seeing. So take the ******* scratched rose tinted glasses off. **** will be blurry but at least it’ll be as raw as you can stand, take a look, see here this is my being.

People used to tell me I should be a lawyer but that would take the joy out of arguing. Me? I want to fix broken things. I’m attracted to brokenness like a moth is to the buzz of a dying fluorescent streetlight. Isn’t that funny? I find it hilarious, that I think I can fix, heal and soothe the wounds of a broken world. I must be truly crazy if I think I can patch up some of the world’s lacerations. Maybe one day, when you imagine me complexly, we can talk about it. I’ll try my damnedest to not to try and fix you, because I’d be a flaming liar if I didn’t think you weren’t broken. So imagine me complexly. I'll wait, don't worry. Take all the time you need. Imagine me complexly.

Imagine me complexly.

-z.z