Celebrating Young People's Gender, Sexual Diversity and Self-Expression Pt 1

sitting in baggy clothes

refreshments behind me

something like a mermaid purse

of trauma materialized 

holding the black puddle of

of socialization 

an eyepatch

the terms start stirring

my mirror phase

my mom’s body

the chat rooms

some heinous checkpoints

of dismissing my 

healthy body 

with the solid mask

of function and
rocklike love

also as well

I keep getting this
baby feeling
in my new apt
like, I am one






I like how in certain settings
“sugars” is a unit
how many sugars?
it cracks me up





I dreamt about quiet lanky H
who says “woooo”
who loves coffee, watches,
and puting beads in the fish tank
I dreamt that she was a vampire
and I woke up heartbroken

The Butterfly Is Implied

The Butterfly Is Implied

Jacob playing his set 

giant clam shell hands 

illuminated from below 

the space between each finger on the keyboard

is like the rippled edge of a shell

like Venus emerges from

between songs he gives a treatise on existing 

linking so many symbols

masks, larva (the butterfly is implied)

how we are nothing but each other 

I am what I have

and I think of

my hearts not in me, it’s where they all are

he also says

don’t shit talk on death, it’s the special sauce that makes everything taste delicious

and I feel so connected in that moment

so alive for a second

I can’t help how sentimental I am

am I foolish

for making the connections 

symbols and signs so comfortable and juicy

I used to draw mask after mask

and I was larva, of course

Green Wave is a song after Jamie’s Green Wave

I recently found the poem of his by the same name that must have been the basis for the song

its about surfing

he also compares himself to a spider in the ocean

in a way eerily similar 

to the way my Green Wave does

I can’t help it

the knot in my throat at those synchronicities

I resent being treated young and foolish 

by the practical people around me

it’s crazy that we are older now

than Jamie ever was

to be older than a big brother

death is the special sauce 

I worry about my knot throat ways

what if they could they tip 

into an illness

like my mom’s, like Jacob’s mom’s

I feel so abstract so often 

nothing behind my face

can’t grasp the physical enough 

to stay in

or hang out

I will never know enough 

about books or basketball 

flowers or history 

and I worry about the egoism of art

I want to be the heartbalm

I want to be the stairstep

I want to be all of them, out there

reflect beauty back at the world  

it’s all there and there’s nothing there

I want to be free

but I love how fences look, too

just moments, just glimmers, right?

the ocean in Santa Cruz

the butterflies in the trees

on the way to meet my sister’s baby

the sparkling arc 

a spiral continues

and I think of Jamie’s quote about how

deciding the world is too sad to bring children into 

just allows it to be so

and how we have to continue to believe

that we can live and laugh in the sun

and, anyway

the sun is the best artist 

July b storm/love letter

I want to be joined by her.

expensive velcro

walking up a grassy hill at dusk

up and down some grassy hills

to arrive at a twinkling vista

tidy and warm

marzipan layers master crafted

treats in convincing shapes

a coloring book

filled in with chimes

I want to linger against her 

most delicate bangers

simple and perfumey

by the way 

I weep at each bullet point

Do you like the way it feels to be asleep?

read her tracklist like a beauty supply

from the parallel universe 

studded with colder verbs

and elegant trappings

Things Just Die

so merrily but a dream

joke's on him, probably

</3

drooping spirals 

My Vagabond's Book

gray vs zest

the shimmy light on buildings 

don't you hate when the turn signal 

jams a bit like you hurt it?

I drive bad and slow to take pics in this light

wind chimes, metal flowers, a weber grill chained to a fence

abruptly pull over to visit Colonial Iron Works

favorite storefront

a big display window (with its own weird victorian roof)

proudly baring a symmetrical presentation

of stair railings and a gate, painted white

a beautiful installation

I love it because it's like jewelry for buildings

there is a long driveway on the left side it turns out

bricks and dusted over warehouse windows

leading to a parking area and the entrance on the side

gravel and a fence in the back right up against the train tracks

there is a minivan parked there 

with four kids in it?

waiting for their ironworker dad to get off work?

no one at the front desk, dusty windows

all the high counters and walls are 1970s brown 

nothing hung up, no pictures or weird certificates

just shadows cast by the serifs, swirls and flowers

even though I logically know

it's impossible for me to remember

that after the garbage feeling 

comes another daisy moment

the spicy difference between 

gray and 

zest 

that I can't control

makes me believe in

brain chemistry

like today 

looking at a metal flower

is different than yesterday or tomorrow

but maybe it's not just me

the dogs at the park act differently

smiling, playing nicely, the conditions are right

I take my trip group to the contemporary art museum

and everyone is in the best mood

greeting Linda the security guard like an old friend

all three exhibitions are fucking beautiful
a rush, a wave


keep the daisy feeling
longer

**** ******* & yet

after one therapy session
I was bored
and out
45 bones
so now I'm soaking up
the new student trials
of the new neighborhood
yogahaus vinyassa classe
packages there is
a sunglasses bitch
with several beverages
showing me her stomach
Me
what else was I thinking

adding a can of fish to
the vegan noodles
I will always choose
corner of any bed or
classroom any bite
should be a corner

* *** ***** **** *******
** * ********* ***
that night
aware of my patchy lipstick
and fresh pimples
singing for who
just dropping the mic
smirking drinking
grapefruit
the glow of my list,
hiding in it
life in my list
referencing it
to die in my diary
dear Livy...

catch me
splintering
from the gaggle
everyone's afflictions
blurring
and yet I text
and text
& yet & yet
it's mesh

it seemed to be
a whole thing
a puffy, simple
bubble moment
where he noticed me
and we talked
kept tabs
you cut your hair
where are you
gonna be tonight

easy, here

the woman trying
so hard
to chew with her mouth closed
or is it just in her blood
the make up
imagine food falling out
my heart breaks the same
falling down
simple steps
running out
of ways to say it
thumps

the ladies who
try to look better than
even the world
the background sucks
-- not nature, but
the suckerdom is major
and never fails to shock
my softcore system

the mountain is beautiful
kind of small
like a pocketbook

& basic system:

you live and then you die
so you might as well be happy
try to argue, ha
I cry

something I do, taking
something away from who I am?
never

the drawings
the pictures
the morning dew on my phone
revolting

I think again of this certain moment
before being awake
when thoughts are irrelevant
distant, passing clouds
tomorrow's weather

when traveling
when reeling

to wake up empty

imagine this poem
wilting
or finishing itself
in scraps
the spindly shreds
of collage, swept
into the trash

the border of a sticker sheet