brave new weird world


the striations like tattoos- i never got any

’cause events and growth are never captured in those.

i would rather be the blank fleshy slate i’ve always been –

style in neutrality. besides, no one cares.

no one looks at me

more than me,




the world is shouting its differences more and more like pride.

i love it but it makes me feel lonely. i used to be the weirdo

and the world shows me more each year. i was never the weirdo.

and where does my hat hang if not on that? the old sitcoms, the books,

the memories and legends and poetry? i still have pride, but it’s in tatters,

it’s almost more comfortable that way. that’s hard to explain.

the brave new weird world is a highwire act

and i’m not afraid of heights

but i don’t go looking for them, either.

i am slowly etched

more and more

in letters.

it used to be a theme, a joke,

didn’t know it would become my whole life.

meaning strung to meaning

through sentences

but not blood,