National Poetry Month 2021

we are everything we consume; you’ve heard this before

your hands seem to forget, what they ignore

now that it’s summer the sun burns a hole in the periphery

we call it hell, but it is witchery

falling into antiquity, we want to do it all

we don’t care how, as long as we don’t fall

in love with anything, or anyone

we end up begging for the heat of a gun

we mess shit up thinking it should always hurt

we call it love as we pick up our skirts

enjoying the blasphemy

filled to capacity

love should feel like an explosion, thunder

instead we settle for a puncture

perhaps we need more orange juice, more sleep

perhaps a good meal, a good weep

we ache at every little thing, gigantic children trying to play for keeps

trying to catch the wind and all the love in heaps

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