i feel like these are all terrible and i’m sorry
I was in the middle of thinking,
Big, beasts of thought,
And you and your dog walked up.
So now I’m thinking about you.
The big grand plans my mind makes for you at 7 AM.
I wonder about the man who took a photo of his wife for the back cover of the book I’m reading.
Why did he insist on putting his name on the photo credit?
How did he ask her to pose?
Did she take a long time to get dressed?
Is that how he sees her, slightly stiff and turtle-necked?
Did he look at the photo and think it was good,
Did he put it in context of someone else’s world and think it was okay?
Did he think, well I think she looks perfectly fine, she’s never been gorgeous, but her friends will like this one?
How many photos did she ask him to take?
I’ve done a lot of staring at the plant on the corner of my porch
It’s my yew tree I’m growing in a bucket,
Well a container.
It’s where I look when I’ve woken up too early in the morning,
And don’t want to be on my phone,
So I sit outside, and look at the horizon,
And the plant is in the way.
I wonder if it knows how long I’ve looked at it.
How many of my thoughts it holds,
Or if it even likes being outside.
I told him it’s an empathy issue,
I was tired and he was mad,
And he kept telling me these things I’d only heard people on tv say,
Things like I can call those people whatever I want.
And they can just deal with it, it doesn’t hurt me so it shouldn’t hurt them.
And I thought I was special and still a full person to you, because I was somehow in your circle,
But I’m not, am I? I’m still not fully human, not fully you.
I don’t have time to make cookies.
Or the money to make fudge,
I’d rather just buy something,
Or have someone make it for me,
Mom come make something for me.