Status Updates From Three Births

“(for example, my torso in general is lacking in “practicality”).

Lisa Robertson said ‘the poem is a hormone’

hey, I wish then at least I could swallow it.

Yes I am afraid of being cut open, but not so afraid I won’t just do it.

Self-love is like sky writing,
it is me: I am the embarrassed theme

obsessing over torsos in this chair
always giving language a second chance.

“I loved other people more than myself, for a while that was lesbian.”

“All this rumoured honesty: I’d make such a decent saint! Flapping from one so-called gender to the next. Moving on the fucking wing. Each breath of mine a private miracle. Moist! Actually I’m better than a decent saint, I am a small, bossy son of God.”

“For a few heartbeats I am a total prince. Scars on my chest like his red carnations!
Noise sealed up. Touch my own skin like a lover might.
Without disassociation, a lump in my own throat.”

“but wow it feels good to be obvious after years of misery, mystery, misery, mystery.”

“I’m trying to resist the temptation to say, ‘If you don’t believe me I’ll prove it.’ Whatever! I hang in the air like a rumour.

Things I practice saying in the mirror: that’s the difference between you and me! / I know how to hang in
the air like a rumour! / How boring for you! / To be
nothing but a fact on legs!”