"just a number" - 11/21/21
This is what it looks like
To be middle-aged
Folding over bobby-socks
With black glitter-painted nails
Apartment still doesn't have
Furniture that can't be moved
Easily across the room 'cause
Someone likes life modular like Legos
She can build it (her self) up or tear
Down herself at any moment
On a minute's notice she can
Sashay through neighborhoods
So fragrant with resiliency one has
No excuse to feel sorry for
The rooms in one's psyche that long
To have made more headway toward
Chimerical childhood dreams
Like a peacock pride proudly splays
Feathers her coat of many doubts
Flaunts the clout of someone who's
Walked thousands of miles in slippery
Shoes to be transcendent one must
Choose to connect with strangers
Even when they may not approve
No more fucks to give no more
Lies to grieve the difference between
Theater and forgiveness is the distance
Required to travel grounded in place now
Unapologetically faithful who would ever
Believe love would come this far just
To hold hands up to a window
Palms acknowledging soul's
Insurgence against frail existence
---
Oh time, I see you and raise you
One thin dime idioms and axioms
Rigamaroling rhymes give way
To newness' ascension (re)
Invention's skyward climb
