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Poetry by Joanna Valente
EVERYONE HATES EVERYONE
I didn’t pick up when you called me that night because I thought you were drunk and butt-dialed me at a funeral for someone you don’t even know and my body was in another state watching a man undress and there was nothing uglier than when he unzipped his pants than a crocodile and what is the one thing so beautiful you can’t bear to look away but you can’t possess and you’ll drive home after hours of hands shaking your hand and condolences for someone who would probably hate you and there is that mirror. THERE IS NO ESCAPE When your name is Lucifer especially at a coffee shop when the barista asks your name and you think about lying but then you don’t because you are a bad liar and sometimes you can’t control your body and you aren’t sure whether or not you want to be everyone or want everyone to be with you or want everyone to just stop existing so you can stop existing. Everything in your house is vegan and organic, everything in your house is black, everything in your house is void of light. You are the only living thing in your house, but then you are also not alive. You are something much worse. You wish you could kill yourself. In an effort to feel less empty, you joined Tinder because you don’t remember what real touch feels like. These humans don’t even know. Sometimes you want to teach them, but then when you see the glazed over look in their eyes, you don’t even bother to lie. Justice Is Balanced When She Weighs Our Souls 1. We wait for the stars to quell None of us have seen God She will keep[ us ] waiting for three days This is why we were born: to end in the shape of an O No one realizes how cold it will be 2. Earth hails spiders / blotched memories —swells & animals wait for carnage She gives [ us ] her bones to wear On the third day we forget ourselves No longer sure which you is in us Strength Feels Her Body Burst in Flame He tells her to shut her mouth while they fuck Outside thunder is resting / Rain sticks to glass like velcro He pushes her head down—her neck a question mark Throat hesitates / She wants to marry in a ragged hem like clouds / She knows she must gulp / wipes her mouth in glass Someone invented a word for this kind of sour
#Unreal #Poetry #JoannaValente #Darkness #Emotion #Void #Raw
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