bell. the slipping sound of nylon gym shorts
between my legs.
i want my boo to be someone like this. i wanna be able to protect someone who can also have me be vulnerable in front of em, someone who fucks back regardless of who's in who. the way sixo's thirty-mile woman put him back together, so that he understood himself even as he was burned alive.
to my constituencies, the ethnicity that is most foreign in me. she told me, as
a boy, that the church she went to had her name written in stars on it, and so i
would try to read it every night as we went home to her house full of maine
smells and blankets and a small set of teeth, sedately at the sink. i would lie
in bed as a budding teenager and pray that she was not watching me from
heaven as i beat off under my blanket.
a second, improbable beatrix wrote peter rabbit, other children's stories, grew up wealthy enough to spend her childhood with parents only during special occasions. inwardcy focused her imagination, her coded language.
you should be sleeping alone. tell me what you're dreaming of ... don't forget what i wrote you then; don't forget that i meant to win.
-garbage, "hammering in my head"
how would i guard someone's innocence?
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i dream in my heart for the one who will push me to heaven and cantos.
