Kind of.
I'm not entirely aware of it.

I've passed through myself so many times,
I've convinced myself of my shape,
And that it's right.

It's my destiny.

(Woman)

I am like your moth in a streetlight's riptide
At both 40-hour jobs all week
Breaking my back just to make things matter
But not in the way you'd like

You always said,
"Get outta here."
In your fanfare
Of incompatibility

Specifically once,

I came home where the expectations should've been low
You were strange, so strange
Criticizing everything i did
Giving me your opinion on every decision
And always complaining about everyone

After four and a half months of working two full time jobs
And putting up with the abrasiveness you're blind to
When I stopped wanting to talk to you, you hobbled up to me and said,
"Oh. Hi. I forgot you even live here."

Yeah, because I work 80 ******* hours a week,
And I can't buy Ramen noodles without you whispering to a housemate:
"Weird. I don't understand why you wouldn't just season them yourself, but whatever you like to do."

At least it wasn't in that boomy, loud-woman's voice.

I can't talk about requesting off four days in June (it's February)
Without you saying, "so you're taking off four days from your jobs to get paid to work at a convention? hmm. all I'm saying is you gotta think about balancing fun with work. I can't imagine you've accrued vacation time yet."

And yes when I moved out you wanted money for the glass top stove which was not damaged which you welcomed four people to use as much as they wanted which I would not use much and went to my parent's house to make food because you just made me uncomfortable when I used your kitchen.

But I couldn't complain because technically, you were nice.

And never made me talk to you

And you wanted money for the drier which had some ink inside the drum which has since dried and the dryer functions perfectly.

And you wanted money for the damages you said were most likely in the room.

It's time to walk away from you. No, you were strange.
No, I don't trust a stranger.

Child, I am so scared of you
Cherubic though you are
It's cherubs who hold power
And regard in heaven's mind

Their ripples disregarded
As infants' silly games
But could they be like butterflies
Who brewed up storms of shame?

But still eternal walls shine on
Within their painted cheeks
The fortresses of youth and joy
That Hilbert's dragon seeks!

The only reason that they are
Compounds itself in them
And that they are regards itself
Until we come undone

Your hair grows so aggressively
Your teeth are coming in
Child, I am so scared of you
And for you, and for kin


Lay down your head
And dream sweet dreams,
Give yourself tifereth

I love you so deeply
Not impossibly
Dream yourself something good.

.

Michael's secret curse
Is to live by not living
Doesn't want to admit
We can give by not giving
Or find fault in presumptive
Associations
If you wasted your youth
Well of course we waited

Because my value derives
From a forced kind of tension
Never get what you want
They discourage the mention
Of the flaw in your heart
We all see but conspire
To call something art
So there's **** to admire

She's in labor,
You can tell.
This dream is set free by death
Because only through death can there be definition,
A terminus.

Pangs of fear,
Not work not hapless
But somewhere in between
Where they lay in the experience.

You can tell you're about to be born,
That it's on the other side
That it fills itself and spills and repeats like a swiveling bucket

That good enough for eternity is a terrible thing to be.

Love is real love is real love is real

You have a digestive quality
You move through time
Like a worm
Eating itself