wanted so much to fix what was slanted. wanted to come
in like a superhero—take command of the illness, make right by the soul—if to
prove my worth, my demand, a need for my presence. wanted to give something
irreplaceable, something irreducible, something one says she needs forever.
when the world is dying, wanted to be that person, to resuscitate you, and you
knew, and you manipulated the horizon. you might feel pride. you might like to
be honest. you might prefer niceties over something straightforward. wanted to
fix you … this is amazing … a man assuming something is broken; you would
laugh, so protective of self, with too much galaxy to submit … to some man, and
his mission, as to fix you. was certain something was askew, sensing before
pain unveiled itself, wondering why you love softly. wanted to fix you … like
self, the observer, isn’t shattered, spliced, sitting and dining with a platypus;
sheer disinterest, as so deserved, to see it appear in your face. we try so
hard, if to annoy each other, not us, a general assertion; we dislike each
other, the strengths, the weaknesses, the lies, the wailing—so alphabetical,
engraved rhinestones, displaying contempt, caginess, and confusion.
