VegetableRumors™️ text emojis. Just, you know, in case you needed that. Anyways I have to distract myself with something else before I do my homework now.
€B þ ) Ambiguous Gourdfriend
( 8 P ) Larold the cucumber
{( 8 o ) Type A the tomato
£( 3 0 ) suave peach
<%%_8_[)____) uptight asparagus
<%8_\)__) anxious tiny asparagus
( : • ) peas of sarcasm
==8_•____) a leek of some repute
=)}B{þ ) Elder Grape the Unraisined
You ever
see a meme
mocking
Donald Trump
for a thing
he does
and realize
it’s a thing
you do too
and oh god
what’s wrong
with my back
and why can’t
my hips just fib
a little
and you know what
I’m a
magical
fucking
creature
I can cope
with this knowledge. 
This ain’t a
digital scrapbook
and it isn’t
a Polaroid,
this is pure
photographic
evidence,
absolute
silver
processed
proof
that my grandpa
would’ve had an
Instagram,
here’s
“Some of my favorite cows.”
I have thinky thoughts
with my inky words,
you in that slinky dress,
pushing kinky nerds.
I had a doctor’s appointment.
They gave me antibiotics.
It’s been more than a month
with this sinus infection
but I just kept hoping
I was gonna kick it.
But I’ve been in pain
and I was already there
for something else.
I winced when she
touched my neck.
Later that night
I massaged it,
and panicked when
I felt how incredibly
large and swollen
my lymph nodes were.
As I caressed,
tension released,
and I started coughing.
Delirious with sputum,
I researched
what was happening.
Turns out
lymph node massage
is a thing.
I massaged
until my skin
felt loose.
My double chin
had been storing
extra human goo.
I poked and prodded
the result,
staring at myself
in the mirror.
Was I manlier
with my skin
hanging loose?
And then I pulled
on myself,
enough to
tear my heart,
enough to
rip a seam
where I had
sewed myself together.
I often joke about
being 23 weasels
in a human suit
(It’s supposed to be 24.
Oscar is on FMLA,
he’s working through some shit.
It’s why I limp
unexpectedly sometimes.).
I pulled at the corners
and I saw behind the mask tonight.
The pilot, he feels trapped.
I can taste my skull
When the mint begins to rot
At the inside corners
And the edges of my teeth.
I can can feel my tendons
Gently sliding through
Stroking past each other
Buried in the meat.
I can sense my skin
Bristle under the sun
I can feel it augment
Tingle like it’s bugs.
I can think my brainmeats
Writing on these words
Making all new thought heat
Burning just for fun.
I know that I’m not supposed to talk about being crazy.
I know that I’m not supposed to talk about my family.
Or politics.
Or religion.
Or suicide.
I know for damn sure I’m not supposed to talk about my gender and sexuality.
A bunch of anonymous people know I’m not supposed to talk about my alcoholism.
Or my autism.
Or my PTSD.
These are things people get judged for.
These are the things that cause family members to turn into black sheep.
Some black sheep come by it honestly, just melanin, all natural.
But most are stained that way by the vile oily sludge of judgement.
I know these things make people uncomfortable.
You think I don’t know that?
I’ve always known.
I think a little discomfort is a small price to pay, to relieve some sheep of their Sludgement Day.
A man
once told me
the inside
of my skull
was like
a funhouse
filled with mirrors
so the
slightest
little laser
impulse
of emotion
would
bounce around
and
I r fractured
u refracted
split like concrete
served like pie
little slices
teeny splices
page at a time
all stories are lies
Late at night,
when you have to
step outside of yourself,
stop your own breathing,
and slow your racing heart,
enough to verify that
the people who
yell at you and
spit on you and
beat you up and
leave you bruised
have taken their own
shallow
shuddering
breaths
in the
lonely darkness,
that they are
still alive
and you are
still here
to keep them safe,
that is the
season of refreshment.
Breath is
the great equalizer
in this
moment of vulnerability.
Take it.
If I
were to
only have
two words
to describe
exactly how
I feel,
I guess
they would
probably be
“militant sonder.”
You know
the one,
ever aching
realization that
every person
you see
has their
very own
full life…
but aggressive.
Maybe evangelical.
It will
slap me
wide awake,
only to
yell into
my face
“other people
are LIVING!”
and I
have to
try my
best not
to count
what I
think is
the cumulative
value of
all the
world’s boredom.
Rexicorn 