At odd times of the day, I try

to unhinge my jaw and swallow

you whole. Like one day I’ll be

able to hold you so close that

it hurts. Like that story of Frog and

Toad, I’ll be able to make you feel.

At odd times of the day, I feel

so much more than I ever thought

I could. I feel so whole knowing that

I can feel so empty–and I do so much

just to fuck around and find out how

low I can go. At times of the

day, I let myself get called a faggot

on the street or in a cubicle because

maybe being a victim suits me more

than being to blame. At times of the day,

I wonder what it’s like to like myself.

This time of the day, I remember what

it’s like to be remembered in thought.

This time of the day, I feel like I’ve almost

forgotten what it is to hurt–until bleach

cradles me more than anyone else ever has.

At times, I think I wasn’t taught

how to grow–so instead I girdle myself

till I’m felled out of love. At times,

I let them roll down cheek, just to

give myself something to do. At times,

I’m a dog, returning to his vomit.

In time, I will just be. In time, I won’t

colour correct. In time, I’ll fall flat on

purpose. In time, I’ll trip stars. In time,

I’ll write a poem with no subtext. In

time, I’ll jump ship. In time, I’ll

spit you out whole. In time, being close

will be tender.