At the age of thirty, I swallowed all my shame.
— you’d wonder if I’d like to be excluded from this narrative where I punch all my friends
Like I think I like to do in my head
Is there the truth hidden in my dreams
Where I run from one blank chemist’s wall to another?
Do not take me seriously or for granted
I’d like to erase all the “I”s
To erase the first person in my dreams
Not belonging to this world or the next where paranoia is her best friend
Once she sees images in her own poetry
She’s lost herself, for a minute there, I lost myself– phew.
This is why the middle has been my comfort zone
This is why the wheel never stops, unbroken, with me clutching into the axle, there lie all my references– all of hers– all of yours, a ventriloquist’s doll for pop culture
All seeping down the middle
Left for me to scribble
At 3AM next to no one in particular
(Keep your end of the bed to yourself.)
