Confessions
i fear failure
i dont like the way my stomach looks
so i suck it in for
photographs
i invent gardens in my head
where i share red gummy bears with
the roses and cloud-animals
(we give the green ones to the birds) and
i am terrible
at algebra
i always was
i drive over the speed limit
most of the time
and when i write
i tell elaborate lies
but while my hands are busy
they feel so much like truth
i still think of you sometimes
at night when there is
nothing else to think
nothing else to write
and all the world is
quiet
and i wonder
who you are
now
