i’m your idiot

with the “at least i haven’t”s
and the “next time i wont’s”
and the “remember when you”s
and the “no i didn’t”s
and the “i’m sorry”s
and my tail wagging

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november 18, 2015

exercise the dull parts,
must suck living
in this cage
you built

somehow though it comes around to me –
and i should probably care,
but i’m just thinking about
how none of my clothes fit properly

and how i’ll eat
cold meat for dinner,
like the dog eats from its tin,
like you eat from the heart

with sharp teeth and
someone else to blame
for your appetite and
the animal it butchered

this is the day i wish
you brought home a plant,
said solutions gently,
were able to look at me without
your feelings about yourself
seeping through

this is the day i wish
you needed to be educated
on a subject
to post about it
on the internet

all this humming about
your rights, their rights,
free speech,
land, safety and
none of it is yours and
i would hold you close too
if you needed it

november 10, 2015

this morning the world felt just
a little bit lighter, we stayed
up last night being clever,
rhyming riddles, i noticed
your jawline the way i
used to

still thought about rug burn,
whether the internet helps you
keep tabs on your one-night stands,
whether i’m really so pure,
why i’m so bothered and
where the bottom
actually is

the rose tree died,
dropped a seed in the old soil,
sprouted something

i didn’t really care
about a 34 year-old ecologist
with a mediocre hat on
though

not all nature metaphors translate

i want the powers of big brother
in 1984/ the kind of bruise i enjoy/
the feeling i got in the winter of
two thousand fourteen

another poem about functional depression

it wears off like potpourri,
like a child’s interest in their hamster,
like the grip of winter

you don’t believe in
equals and opposites

i don’t believe in
the kind of joy
the people in
laundry detergent commercials
seem to possess

try counting how many
sharp objects you see in a day
and then imagine if
your first instinct was
to see them pierce your skin

it’s not that you do it,
it’s how much effort it takes you
not to

november 9, 2015

my chest is full of lightning and
my face is made of stone

haruki murakami spells out
some fucked up fantasy so well
i reread certain pages in an
effort not to let it end

i try so hard not to be the victim
i forget i don’t dictate
other people’s actions

i try so hard not to be the victim
i forget to digest
the more unpleasant dinners

i try so hard not to be the victim
i rely on fictional characters
to bring me justice

i try so hard not to be the victim
my chest is full of lighting and
my face is made of stone