I hate it,
I hate capturing moments of rage
The design of the wooden floor panel
How the table cloth always hung awkwardly off the table
Serioulsy someone fix it or fucking rid of it
Feeling graveled stone under foot and starring
At some child’s affectionate gaze, and returning with contempt
And the indrawn breaths of heat
How my heart beat faster, in pain, I still hate all of you
Missing grass on the lawn and broken beer bottles in a can we never used
And what I hate are the moments, gaps in my memory of euphoria
Grasping the oven handle while you spoke of something
A slight hiccup and, the black beans burning in the pan,
Some uninformed kid doing his best to hit on you
I wanted to hit on him, with a carjack, or a bat
Flickering wet hair in the dawn’s dawn, you ran in a red-brown towel to bed
I can’t but all I want are those three days back, looping, and looping
Mary, mother of some Israelite, I would have kissed you.
I would have said fuck the beers, let’s go to the cinema,
And I would’ve watched you, instead of the light flickering upon your face.
So be I,
The sunflower seed wrapped in the spit of the gods
and, guitar, and tribal instruments of pirates
rock the waves and thighs of women.
Loneliness, thou art familiar
Such as some wailing electrical instrument
Blonde hair and faithfullness
And a gas stove-oven
Things I desire, some clicking when you’re going to fry me eggs
Beauty satire, and childishness
Secure my hands in yours,and taste the spoon so joyfully
Sincere woman, of no reciprocation.
It matches my fav undies. They have a butterfly on dem omg. I’m never changing.