I Want to Be Undone
Written by Harley, one of our poetry writers, and edited by Seb and Greg, two of our editors!
I wondered about
the man you were going to take in your
mouth.
Yes, I saw you,
when we were on my
bed
one hand dancing through the
wheat fields of my
hair
the other
scrolls idly through
Grindr.
The word “tradition”
fills my mouth with
bile
You sing the words
like a dead man
at the pulpit
I so desperately want to pry your mouth open.
6’5. 9.5 inches.
a fucking bottom.
tradition was never
meant for crooked souls
we see in the mirror
It was always
so easy to imagine
our immolation.
The way I can easily see a
match fly into the white picket fence
on a Saturday morning.
We’d build a house knowing it won’t last
our charred corpses
embracing even in death
The man you love instead of me
will leave us to
die.
i knew hunger the most
when you left me to
die
I’ll stop writing about death, Al. I am wrong often.
One day, I’ll stop writing about death, Al. I am wrong often. The picture I see so clearly is us at the foot of my bed. My socked feet rest against your bare feet. I think about your chest hair and how it is enough to envelop us both. It’s buried in my heart somewhere but… I don’t have to go. I’ll pluck my gray hairs until the color seeps into the floor. You don’t have to go anywhere. I want to show you this incredible thing we can do with our
stillness.
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This piece was written by one of our poetry columnists, Harley. Reach him at @ha.rleyn, on Instagram!
This piece was edited by one of our editors, Greg. Reach him at @gtomaini on Instagram!
This piece was edited by one of our former editors, Seb. Reach him at @sebpetroni on Instagram!
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