I am self-induced cuts-all-over-my-limbs from latching on to nails on the wall, and so, I protect myself
from a fall on
I hear life is the hardest thing for a human, when I die, if I am offered the body of a jellyfish,
or the reincarnation as a human, I will probably resort to the world of disorderly-conduct,
and not only give the old man a seat on the bus,
I give him translucent polka-dotted skin and a belonging in the sea. I am quick
to fall off a cliff of rocks and dive into a
one-sided love, a battle with a wall,
the backsplash of annihilated-and-mushroomed-to-rubble but when my
weapons of mass-destruction are caught and
held in the palms of palms that long to palm me, there is a lingering "why"
and a stain the same.
I merit affliction,
and I flee
from mothers' arms, from fulfilled homes, from people convinced that I deserve to be kissed, and from people who say that when I die,
they will miss me.
I am a vacant grave lot.
Honestly, to dedicate a whole grave lot to my rotting entirety is a lot.
It is more than enough, I wanted to be
the first place
in just one race of love.
When I have never learned to breathe with my head submerged in love's vastness
and when I cannot understand how something so adamantly beautiful can wash up on a beach shore and evaporate to mangled intangibility in less time than it takes for me to take a shower
in the first place.