maybe i don’t need to know the reason behind every shift in facial expression or body language by those around me. maybe i can trust them to tell me if something is wrong (eternal meaning making will drive me to insanity)
paranormal fixation medication meddling forgotten formulaic synchronicity. seeing words in everything. seeing worlds in everything. letting myself go there because its my world to see. my life to live. my abstraction to complete. its all a possibility. and yours is beautiful even if it isnt neat. a couple things can spare your streak. whatever that means. formulaic and wondering weak. whatever that means. wandering forgotten nonsense lost in fashion found is tension leaning lessons finding blessings second guessing my own incessant guessing. first blows through and then its not a joke anymore its real life its a factor its a mediator in the game the ran out horses dashing and fired and wrong and beguiled.
one of my roommate is a poet & sometimes, days later, i find bits of our conversations in the poetry she writes. she likes to read us whatever she’s working on before bed. i often fall asleep in the quiet that follows, thinking about how lucky i’ve become to live in a space where queer being and longing flows freely and abundantly
