i've got all this kindness in me but
i'm too selfish to tell you about it —
i would rather nurture my rage and not tell you about that either;
when i grow up, i want to smoke cigarettes
and i want to be this thing that everyone cares about
an ounce of self-love for every ounce of generosity;
i lose my shit and get humiliated
and i look for dark things and hide what i tell you,
yet for some reason all of you like me and one of you loves me.
well the point of this is, i would say:
i'm not amazing.
i am amazed.
6 comments:
1. this is one of the cutest things you've ever written, except perhaps for "nine hours of" and "le coucher de soleil" and "angela montenegro" and that short one about that time we were "napping."
2. though perhaps cute was not what you were going for.
3. there are bubbles in the background of "octopus's garden."
a. i
died
b. two of us love you
c. this is my second favorite ever
also, when i tried to stalk you, i found about 100 poems by you from the dawn of the paleolithic age, including "le coucher de soleil" which i know i actually did read because i ripped off the title of my book from it, however i failed to find one called "nine hours of."
oops. it was actually called "eight hours of." it's from august.
i, too, like this a lot.
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