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.)

)