apparently i had attention deficit disorder,
which made me way cooler than the kids
who ignored me. they did, however,
notice my over-developed chest,
probably thanks to hormones in the milk
and i used duct tape to conceal myself.
goddamn birds. all my life they have
mistaken me for their own, pulling
at the back of my collar, flapping
wings, those prehistoric things
in my face. i still have nightmares of bald eagles
in these dream, i am an indian.
my woman who gave her life to me before
I was born, a mother since her own birth
from her I learned the perfect way to crack an egg
and a terrible way to make people love
giving and giving until there’s nothing left
expecting the world in return
this man, he flew airplanes and hot air balloons
and was never meant to be a man
or a father, being an eternal boy
he loves only himself
and the good ideas that people
might have of him
on the playground, too young to bleed
from a place other than my knees
my feet slip from the starting monkey bar
in slow motion,
my pelvic bone collides with concrete
and my hymen evaporates
my insanity was not saved by savior
but by knowledge of
metaphysics and music, mainly
that of the pseudo-homo rockers
of the death to disco era.
I owe my life to david bowie.
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