Last night, you called yourself a dormant addict in a room full of humans wearing name tags and fetishes. When one of them asked you what you were into, you said, “Peanut butter sandwiches without the bread.”
You wandered around that room searching through poems hidden beneath piles of skin. One of them stood so close to you, you could smell breakfast on his breath, even memorized the pattern of his lungs extending and retracting.
On this night, you chose seltzer over whiskey and when there was nothing left to sip, you stole ice cubes and leftover limes sliced over glasses.
One of them wanted to kiss you. Another mislabeled you as woman and child-bearer. You looked all over for humans who had no ownerships to boxes, but many seemed in need of calling themselves something.
Finally, when someone asked, well, what are you then?, all you could say was, “Decapsulating.”
Hey. Wow, this is exquisite. I like “searching for poems beneath piles of skin” and “you could smell breakfast on his breath.” So poetic! And yes, I search for people with no ownership to boxes, too. 🙂
Thank you for reading! There is such beauty in being able to push the boundaries of lines that make up those “boxes” and create new shapes.
To say that I love this would sound trite. But it speaks so beautifully, so poetically, so philosophically, –I have the sense Sartre’s been nibbling at my ear!