from this moment forward,
I do not wish to be seen
in the eyes of desire
or through a mirror,
I am invisible.
in my phantom transition
I also vow to be mute.
you cannot hear me,
even when I whisper
when you hold your face close to mine
my voice will not be there
and no, you cannot touch me.
I am ineffable,
every part of my being is off limits
to you, whoever you may be
or will be.
I am without
innately non, un, all forms of other.
I was but will not be
I will not will not be
I will to unwill myself
in every space that is there.
every place that is around me
is now without me.
I won’t. I am not. I am
removed and now I remove I.
read these words in reverse
so that what you read is not
and is no longer.
vow to me that this will
not be seen
vow to not read this aloud.
vow to unsee this in any way
that you can
you must because
how do you express the feeling
when you lose something
while the sun sets around you,
without explaining every moment?
i see freedom around me
as a rabbit breaches the forests edge
and a child runs past his parents for the first time
“it’s like holding onto a lottery ticket in a windstorm”
and I write it down,
in search of freedom
I’m thankful for days when people say things like,
“open your window if you need fresh air”
It’s not often that I remember the wind
more commonly, I remember all the reasons
that make me want to die
but in seasons, I’m offered an out
to be covered yellow by pollen
and transform into my favorite thing
a color wrapped in light,
speckled in a dreamscape,
passing through a recovered memory
to a man who sees his target
through a lens
solitude may look like the tiny
opening of a flower after it rains,
a nearly invisible owl at noon
today it looked like a girl
taken by a book and lost
in the ever revolving movement
of a life outside of a lens
and when he apologized
for directing his focus away from me,
while near me,
I told him I was leaving anyways
because I am always leaving
and when the path I left on
became clouded and skewed,
I cleaned the lenses
that I look through everyday
but a target never appeared
I created a room
with no sides,
windowless and ineluctable
a hazy, timeless space
that felt abruptly solemn at my entering.
it waited all day for my echoed steps
and the sigh of relief
that came with the unveiling of my form, so discreet.
i sat there, in that room
to question that mystery
that turned the room into a feeling.
this morning I woke up and I ate coffee
but that wasn’t really food so I ate
three small potatoes.
I drove on a long highway
and thought about eating but I didn’t.
then I went home and I ate
an entire order of breadsticks
which sounds very enjoyable but it wasn’t
because I thought about every single breadstick
while I ate.
not in a cherishing sort of way but in a dreading sort of way
and I thought about the bread inside of my body
and I quickly thought about how happy I was to not be gluten free
and then I thought for a long time about my dad
and how he would comment on my weight
when I would help myself to seconds
and I thought about when I stopped helping myself to seconds
because I didn’t want my weight to be commented on anymore
then I thought about when I was on Zoloft
and how I didn’t eat anything for three days except for an apple.
I had never enjoyed food so much in my life
I had never hated food so much in my life
the lake my parents live on
looks like the accumulation
of their neighbors dip spit.
a moat surrounding John Deere
tractors, pickup trucks,
lawn signs that read “Thank You Jesus”.
sewage run off carrying
McDonald’s bags and NRA bumper stickers.
small wooded islands are interspaced
with the sounds of frogs and Fox News
playing on televisions.
devout naysayers huddle on boats,
sharing stories of one-
sided celebrations with right-
if you pray hard enough, drowning
victims will be saved and fish will be caught.
bread will be broken
with those who float
above the deep subaqueous silence.
love is the reverberation
of a muted song,
spinning but unspun in a spool.
left over images on the reel, woven
pasts and recycled words
all interconnected into
a massive structure of rewinding time.
you drag it through the street
and beg others to
watch, listen, or feel.
if your bartering isn’t accepted,
another empty echo is hoarded.
the devouring forms of childhood
lay within a transmuted cloud formation
backstabbed by light beaming brushstrokes
all trickling down into a pool of commonalities
awaiting a future
where feverish feelings bubble up into
times on the precipice of being cherished
Chryste says we are our own planets
inside of a dive bar,
pulling men into our gravitational fields.
but I feel like an astronaut,
invisibly free falling
on the fringes of every celestial body.
I lock eyes with a trail of comets,
ensorcell a protostar,
blush in the presence of a red giant.
in the slow descent,
my beer boils,
forming tiny crystals
that encircle my head.
cosmic rays permanently toxify my body
through string lights and neon signs.
I am illumined
or maybe I’m drunk.