i’m tired, kid
reckon you are too.
seems like we been at this
since before anything.
‘n there’s always the somebody,
the reckless ‘n the wild,
tellin’ us we ain’t enough,
that we ain’t got it straight.
callin’ us Dead-Beat, irredeemable.
We gonna take that?
Dead-Beat, irredeemable.
—–
slow fade lights up,
clear stage,
but me,
speaking to you,
in chopped up half-sentences,
that any grammar teacher would cringe at.
The Cheif Technology Officer of the nearby office of a northern tasting “soda” had her husband evict me because I was a “deadbeat, irredeemable”.
Dead-Beat.
Irredeemable.
Punk-bitch.
Some stranger almost runs me over in his car,
jumps out, threatens to throttle my friends and I,
calls us punk-bitches.
And I’m dead tired,
if I’m honest,
relatives keep cornering me into politics,
any holidays I visit,
when the debate devolves,
they always end on “you’ll change your tune when you’re older, everyone starts life liberal and ends it conservative”.
Dead-Beat.
asked my sibling what the hell it even meant,
got back “idk, I guess, like, someone who doesn’t really have any driving purpose and no real desire to work towards anything. My guess is it came from people’s percieved notions of people living in poverty, and the whole idea rich people like to have that poor people could just work and not be poor, so clearly if they are still poor they aren’t doing anything to help themselves. Idk.”
Irredeemable.
dead tired.
—–
distance is just an obstacle,
Dead-Beat,
Irredeemable.
Kasia,
Buckwheat,
Purity.
words keep winding wild
tossing their sneakers at the porch
losing socks ‘n shorts ‘n shirts ‘n the rest
until they stand stark, naked, alone,
cowing the rest of thought into silence.
distance is just an obstacle.
neither of us knows just how long we’ve been talking,
started with two lonely people
Dead-Beat,
directionless,
purposeless,
cloppin’ to the beat of some long dead rythmn
purposeless.
Irredeemable.
tired of all this.
dead tired of beatin’ ‘gainst this wall.
distance is just an obstacle.
Irredeemable,
Kasia.
ain’t even like it’s buckin’ the trend anymore,
what with the wheat of emotion slidin’ ever digital
that even life-long astronauts can know the purity of love.
Dead-Beat,
‘n I’m not lookin’ for redemption.
Irredeemable.
distance is just an obstacle,
Kasia.
from all those hours I taught myself guitar,
my fingers only remember “3rd Planet”.
‘n I might ‘a fallen for the wrong person,
but it ain’t like the fallin’ was wrong.
somewhere in Texas,
I’ve got this cousin who fell in love
with some man she met in WoW,
turned eighteen, moved there, married him,
went to college.
ain’t heard much since,
but how’s it different from meeting
in a coffee shop
book store
university
*The universe is shaped exactly like the earth if you go straight long enough you’ll end up where you were*
–
aglow in phone-light,
i. choose. my. words. so. precisely.
hoping that perfection will
enfuse with whatever me you carry.
there are beautiful pictures of you
there are no beautiful pictures of me
there is a beautiful woman texting me
she is texting me about batman villians
there is a beautiful woman texting me
she is texting me about wifi problems
i would sleep with either
given the chance
but i’m only in love with one
and have yet to say it
because
because
because
maybe i’m afraid
but i don’t know what of
there are no beautiful pictures of me
and i didn’t used to look for my worth
in the touch of others
but i used to get touched all the time.
just ’cause I’m lonely,
don’t mean I’m longin’ for you…
don’t,
don’t touch me
i wish that i was good enough
that desire wasn’t keeping me
from the best thing in my life.
tired,
dead tired,
of beatin’ this drum.
beat to beat,
slidin’ my finger cross that touch-screen,
lookin’ for love in the pictures of others
lookin’ for worth in the beat of their song,
finger to touch screen
touch without touch.
so often we’d have to touch without touch.
so bad
i just want touch
