birth / day

there are things that cling to me
that are not mine -
things that have come
from somewhere
else

they like to latch on to the tendrils
of me, at first I don't notice
the scratch at my periphery -

suddenly, I feel
my brain
dragging,
my
reproduction organs
tugging themselves into swollen knots

and I know.
I'm
holding
within me
a parasite

at least
I know.

it's still revolting.

at best
I can stand
by the window,
and invite
the rain to wash over me,
to wash them off

at worst they'll cry through the tips of my fingers
make their way up
into
my throat

and flood out my eyeballs

mostly, I don't mind.
I'm so good at playing host.

but other people mind
and they mind that I don't mind
they will encourage me
to fix, or
get fixed,
"okay?"

though I know fix begins
with staying, still.

I feel the parasites out,
their little footpricks on my skin hairs -
trying
to get
somewhere, too

They also want out.

They've another destination.
it isn't me
and I'd be self-absorbed
not to realise

A place that isn't even at this volume of gravity -

and eventually, after climbing
beyond capacity to fill
they'll slip down my
face, rest
briefly in my mouth
and continue back down
through the earth
to inhabit some other soil

I'll be empty
again.
and I'll wish to feel
the echoey ding
of those ferocious ghosts

it kind of feels like a lie

to say, "when I 

was in New York

I made out with a stranger

who barely spoke English

with crosses on my hands to mark 

DO NOT SERVE

my dad and his partner a few 

meters away

in a nightclub that 

felt like a labyrinth

and I was scared

and I loved the adrenaline"

but it wouldn't be a lie

that's a thing that happened

and it's probably 

no big deal,

anyway

en Pinnacle

Tomorrow

I will emerge into the forest
and I will wonder how I could ever
not be okay

or,
I will be
traversing
the phlegm-caught lungs of my chest
and wishing
i were alone

I will be

carrying the spaces for us all to sleep
carrying, again

I'll be thinking about her
and him,
him, him

and all of them
and all of that

I'll be

(I'll be)

standing in the puddles of myself
without your kiss on my forehead
but
with someone
who gave me one, once

(because I coerced him into it..)