Bloated

I really resent

The idea that poems

Have to be pleasant

Or symmetrical

Or cadenced

I think poems should just exist

I find your rules

Boring and suffocating, kinda like

My ex’s tits before she lost weight—

Full, buoyant and —numb.

Words flapping around in your skull

While you look for what you

Were feeling before you

Read somebody else’s’ thoughts

Bloated with expectation and it’s always somehow

Never enough


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