gender is your roomba?

gender is your roomba? dancing in fixed patterns. gotta keep it clean! fixed patterns. gender is God, not Goddess, God. gender is giving a higher power a gender based on the influence of the writer. Gender has been dictated on whether or not you have a dick or not. To dick or not to dick, I’m honestly not dicking around here on this language that we use. Gender is a cross located between the legs no ears no right and left atriums no somewhere..honestly your gender is my religion. Gender is looking at a bathroom sign and either saying yes or fuck no. gender is sometimes formed in the refusal—doctor says, daddy do. even in writing that I am saying dad, instead of mom, instead of parent. gender is straight out of the first words of a child’s mouth. Gender is a hot topic—25 WAYS TO MAKE HIM KNOW THAT—the answer might surprise you! click here to reveal my gender. click here. Gender is a noun class system until and when I perform, then it is a verb and I stop having and am. gender is a capturing of a view truly you, down the street thumbs up, you win! or thumbs down and gender is a cult, I go to group every thursdays to dip my hands in gender and proclaim that gender is looking for experimentation. Western culture thinks that gender is edgy and “couture”, like we’re the first to say that gender can be like mist. gender is a block paragraph on a page. the longer you look at it the fuzzier it becomes. gender is soft and hard-hitting and spoken in whispered tones across galleries where people say ok, that is gender, sure, while trying to figure out if their wine has fucking hints of almonds. gender is a google search engine spitting out academia or telling me that gender is no longer an issue or safe? always a question mark. gender is getting lost because I have been on this road for a very long time and only now did I look over to my right and see that gender is as essential as a Splenda in your coffee. gender is a measurement; gender is as Gender does. gender is influence, and depending on the gender is who has the mic. Gender is more likely to drive after drinking (idk, you can figure that one out). gender is forms upon forms upon forms of anxiety attacks while trying to figure out what box to check. check yourself if you can answer that form without even thinking about it. gender is worth the very minuscule angle between the doctor’s hand and the baby’s butt, and the clap! as well as the hurrays and hurrahs of declaring that gender is a sentence. a jail cell, freedom in circumstance, in the bedroom? gender is how my soul weeps with my body in the heaves and hoes of my gender gently sleeping, sleeping…

puzzle piece hands

I lament our lack of potential for connection.

   I crave for nothing more than to hear you

   knock at my door and ask for just one more

   chance to try and see if our puzzle piece hands

   match.

Although my heart feels like it is dissolving,

   my thoughts can’t stop revolving around how I want

   not to reject our puzzle piece hands that just

   cannot connect and take a hammer to the edges

   until our colors bleed together. 

I have tried sharpened scissors, and cut the edges 

   of my puzzle piece hands to modify and refine in a last ditch

   effort to fuse, but they still refuse to comply

   and I lie here ramming my eyelids closed

   with this desire on fire across my chest.

                But you know as well as I that

           we are back in the box until we encounter 

       our counter-piece and our counter-peace.

7/2015

I couldn’t fall in love with you because I was rolling in dough upon winning $20..and according to Google I am twice as many dog years old right now as I was the last time I checked and I was wrapped up in my thoughts about dog years and the life on our relationship..I’m sorry, but I couldn’t fall in with love you because my horoscope told me not to.. I couldn’t fall in love with you because I was looking up hotels on Yelp and was told that my heart is the worst one (yikes!)..I couldn’t fall in love with you last Friday because my roommate was smoking weed and I was having a really hard time with figuring out why I could only smell the burning, burning of bridges I had burned before..I don’t know if this counts, but I couldn’t fall in love with you because when I was in the second grade I was told that I was very nice and that I liked to give out gum to pretty girls, but I don’t even know if you chew gum..I couldn’t fall in love with you because I’m scared of the dark and commitment.. listen, I couldn’t fall in love with you because I was watching the season finale of a show two years too late and you know how it is.. I couldn’t fall in love with you because my mom said no.. I couldn’t fall in with love you because I outgrew my shoes and holding your hand.. I couldn’t fall in love with you because you didn’t ask why green is my favorite color.

crop circles under my eyes

people don’t like that I don’t want to live forever,

they think it selfish.

I’m so tired, I tell them.

drink coffee, they reply. i do, but I am more tired than Ever.

go to church, they reply. i do, but I am backed into a corner

my Love is crucified and I don’t know how to respond.

figure it out, it’ll get better.

im so tired.

people close doors to the things they want to keep out

or in, it just depends

on the subject or the agency.

it sucks when you feel like you are out of the latter and in too deep in the former.

i wonder if God is tired of me asking him to kill me, so I don’t have a weeping Mother asking what she did wrong

I’d hear the echoes of her self doubt in my coffin, I just know it.

weeping bell, weeping bell,

clock strikes 10 and here I am again, oh so tired,

writing love letters to my past selves and telling them that they are so very lovely for being so damn soft

wanting the best for the people who have hurt them

and hurt them. so tired.

i am sitting on a roundabout at 2 in the afternoon.

children are screaming and a medley of colors fills my eyes until they are overflowing in chunks and fly off my face like gloopy paint onto the sand. the children step in it and continue playing. i am not there.

does your mind ever just shut off in the middle of a Very Important conversation and you know you should say x but you go nonverbal and Cambell’s Soup starts spilling out of your ears until it keeps spelling out the same damn thing

i a m s o t i r e d

onto the kitchen table and you half-heartedly try to clean it up quickly in the lull in dinner conversation. I’m sorry I said that.

do they Know? do they Know that you have responded every time with the same thing?  

a repeating clock ticking down down down

i don’t tell people about the second grade, but I know the moment I write this people will Wonder and ask me and here’s the thing: no, I am too tired to talk about it and this next part of the poem will just have to do:

i am a tired pup without a tail to wag,

two tales to sag this night out of one’s concentration, 

I am sorry I said that, please forgive me, I am sorry and I think it is because I didn’t sleep well last night for the first time in four months, but wow, would you look at the time! I have to go catch dinner with the angel that is constantly moving and blinking with its eyes and its balances.

I think the first thing I would ask God is how does one balance this sadness and the day to day where you are supposed to show up with a story to work that doesn’t revolve around my fucking anarchy against the chemistry in my hippocampus

but I’m fine, I promise I’m fine. and yes, I did catch the Charger game last night