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Look

You look at me like I’ve got it all figured But I’m a mess Just look at me When I was introduced to myself My hands melted together firm but unsure and then quickly diverged They were surprised that their twin could be so So cold So rough So foreign My face feels the same about its reflection It looks different in the mirror than it does in everyone’s eyes My identity has been pressing the panic button repeatedly I’m a mess Just look in me I still loose my thoughts in the past I still judge myself for feeling Feeling afraid Feeling want Feeling melancholy I expect nothing to hurt, and hate myself when it does So when it comes to being with anyone other than me I realize over and over that I’m a mess Because of other yous And that stops me from making what’s old new

Drinking Song

The baton stirs the twist of sharp and flat

Until the sound, the lights, the taste of it all is a whirpool in a glass

Assertive hands bob above the brim manipulating this waxy yellow rind

Until bursts of sweet sour sound break at the mouth of the bay, my bay

Stringing through the lips, then through the ears and the nose

Through the salty crevices between the fingers

Eroding away at the incessant voices that speak to me in tongues

At a volume that soils every synapse

Usually I let my mind sink everything

It’s seasickness. Sorry.

But all at once this deafening triumph and muted blur

Travels down stream, permeates my every pore

And scrapes away at my banks

Until I’m wide and still

Drowning with drunk

Drunk with drowning