Notes of a doctor appointment

It’s letting all my thoughts Burn in fear Until that’s all I am Until I feel better And like that I’m 9 again Still woozy from the antiseptic waiting room Maroon seats, next to my mother Overhearing her later Tell my father what a placebo is And know they think I don’t understand That I’m a liar Because why would a boy Still, quite Have pain radiating from his sternum? Tired yet always sleeping Because it wasn’t a lie They put there About drugs Or if I’d been hit, beaten I tossed those pills away And learned not to trust…

An Edited Self

Centered, a Centered Self was the first title I tried. Worldly, together, not too sanctimonious. Maybe true, in my room of instruments, the tapestry and swirls of incense. Brands of laid back peace and all truth told, I roll a beautiful joint. Trust in the meaning I make from the smoke. Your skin IS too beautifully brown to risk forgetting your ID. How ideas and viewpoints transform and change. The privileged fucking arrogance of even having an ID, a talisman of luck until it isn’t. It’s easier to slip into thinking time is the enemy. Fuck you, 2018! News, a…