i can read
other people’s thoughts
and they say
am i as crazy
as that man
who is reading my thoughts
or am i worse
because i
don’t know if that’s
what he’s thinking
and some days
i don’t know what i’m thinking
because i change so quickly
before i understand
what it was and meant
to change like,
not that,
or this,
but,
well,
me,
or wait,
slow down,
that man too
where did he go
is he still listening in
am i
*
winter hangover
summer drunk
i am now in the haze of fall
with a tongue metronome
over my lips
and hopefully someone else’s
while in the cold
so it’s hard to remove
and i can spend time
explaining what it means
to mean to another
without needing explanation
*
the moment writing
becomes too tough
i should stop
ripping poems
from fingers
and fuck off
hoping that gets me
off fucking
and nailing lines
to white spaces
trying to create
black babies that
don’t bleed as much
as their parent
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