Today writing poetry seems dumber than ever

I am so tired of trying to squeeze

Myself into this two-dimensional space

And pretend it brings you closer

To knowing me

I want to stand in a bright room

In white overalls

Slap paint onto a canvas twice my size

And make a movie of it

So that you’re not sure

If I am making art or

Myself

And is that art

To attempt living

When you’d rather not

I don’t think so

I mean yeah poems can be powerful

Take shape like soft

Pills that melt inside us

Swimming through our veins

Like microscopic angel fish

Collecting temporary heavens

Like this

Is all I ever mean

The nerves in your bottom

Lip when you think of me

When my nail polish doesn’t

Chip for two days

Fuck a career

I want you to read

My words and cry because you know

What I mean when I say

There is a scream

That starts in my belly and tears

Up through my chest

Gets caught on the barbed

Wire in my throat

How quickly we would burn

Our own books out of love

For everything they cannot touch