push

throw yourself at food.
i want you to taste it:
pretend it’s prison food
then be surprised. moan a little.
pedal downhill.
you’re already going fast,
what harm can faster do?
put ice in your milk.
take friends on walks.
turn the music up
so you can hear it in the bath.
buy new socks when necessary.
not the cheapest ones.
it’s not that i want
you to be happy, i want
you to exist. matter.
take up. space.
(once in awhile someone will
say it’s not important.
they lie. it is. all of it.
the memories of today
and of this conversation
will either be worth repeating
or they won’t.)
sometimes i fear
you will cry yourself awake
alert and overwhelmingly aware,
sitting up in cold linens
in the not yet dawn
walled in by crumbling plaster
and a slow spinning ceiling fan,
water on your face
and your mouth too dry
aching with the loss
of innocent potential
your life’s loins smeared
with the fuss and afterbirth
of these stillborn moments.

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