Note: I posted this a while ago (actually May 30, 2012), but then I unpublished it because it made some people I know in real-life nervous. I’m publishing this again because it’s National Poetry Month, and, frankly, because I can. I’ve spent the last few years making apologies for my DNA-level desire to write. I don’t want to do that anymore. I don’t think this is the best poem ever written, but it’s mine. It’s a part of me. And I like it.


1. If I had a knife,
I’d slice those words out of your throat.
I’d be careful; the cut would be clean.

2. If fucking up is a privilege,
Then it’s a privilege I’ll take.
I’ll make a giant mess.
I’ll leave footprints in the flour.

3. I’m scrawling this on a wall.
I don’t have time to be civilized.
If I were you, I’d be easy right now.
I grow wilder every day.