Because the other kids beat me - black-eyed, bloody. Because that blood still pitter-patters. Because it’s raining. Because my clothes were sewn in sweatshops. Because I’m fat. Because I’m losing the excuse of youth. Because I’ve forgotten to take my medication. Because I’ve taken my medication. Because I can’t get out of bed.
Because I’m a burden. Because of brain chemistry. Because I’ve been bred on three-act structures. Because I’m obsequious in ways I’m barely aware of. Because of greenhouse gases. Because I don’t deserve food and shelter. Because I’m sobering up.
Because I want to be a baby again. Because I’m selfish. Because I hate my face. Because I could never break things gently. Because it’s familiar. Because it’s comfortable. Because it’s a cancer. Because it’s a dog I can’t put down.
Because I’m tired. Because I’ve been proselytised into consumption. Because money is power. Because I’m a palimpsest for embarrassment. Because words fall flat.
Because flowers only flourish from the filth."
my whole body shook hours after you took my hand and told me
it was nice to meet me.
no one has thought it was nice to meet me in years,
since I was a child and “cute” was still a good compliment,
when “beautiful” seemed like an adult word.
I used to think that our eyes would meet when we were in the same room together,
but they didn’t just simply meet,
they slammed right into each other and have not looked away.
If our eyes fell in love so quickly,
what will become of us?