muscular dystrophy

bad poetry makes good poets. i just need to keep going until, there, it’s happened. i’ve done it. all is right, perfect, except for that next word.

violence.

*

i was trying to

see if she still

loved me

but i no longer

see her because

we fell out of love

*

left to our own

devices

we create devices

to leave us

alone

*

i am told

that beauty will save

this world

but in the fire that

consumed me

my mangled limbs

my gnarling face

my mouthless tongue

sputtering like a dog

to help me

help me please

i was too ugly

to be saved

*

when love

is all there is

there isn’t much

and when love

is all there isn’t

there’s less