what even am i trying at i would like not to be in these poems
the way i exactly was not being in my life while appearing
very much to anyone observing to be a person inhabiting a life ball don’t lie
in the obliteration i once wondered at how wild it was
i could chop fruit so deftly when i wasn’t even there
knife trust through strawberries it was weird to have hands
i would like not to be in this poem
but i can’t keep trying to write about these
neurons crucial to the generation of actual selfhood
without showing up too & how watching women’s soccer flung me
(whoops!) back into this selfhood what the fuck was that about
except maybe soccer was mine before i even was mine
the way empathy belonged to art before it was between us
we’re always reflecting off of everything always stealing the air on the field
isn’t any different but call it an atmosphere and it becomes one
even these mirrors metaphors for mirrors
we think of pain as private but our brains treat it as something shared*
when i wasn’t there no one could see i was shards but here i am
*from *the secret lives of sports fans* by Eric Simmons
lolol at women’s soccer flinging / “what the fuck was that about”
Reality show called SHARDS BOUNCE BACK, now on Lifetime, whooo. (Love these wild brain rides.)
“the obliteration i once wondered at”
What happened with that, yeah … ?