10/17/17

a head like a smashed in jack-o-lantern
base filled with melted wax
cranial walls blackened.
the facade collapsing
in on itself like the core
of a dying star—
rot and old age
showing.
mouth
kicked in.
eyes
insect eaten.
scalp missing.
what was once
an attractive
orange face
eminating
a warm inviting
glow
now:
shriveled,
deformed,
unwanted.
just ugly.
organic,
not plastic,
and always
afraid
of mornings.

a power outage in dallas

it's okay.

in the dark
i still check my phone
for a missed call
or a new message.
check my computer for
a new email
as you talk to new friends
in person;
i talk to my silhouette
on my bedroom wall.

your friends are
a lot cooler than me.

it's okay.

some nights you
make out
with probably some cuties
while i sensually french kiss
the palm of my hand
with my eyes closed
and in the morning,
each of us might
regret this.

it's okay.
i'm okay.
i think.

i got a 14 year old pregnant

her mom watched a lot of daytime tv,
which is why she decided to forgo 911
and straight to the talk show studio.
she cries in her chair, while her mother
answers the authoritative host's very
personal questions about our relationships
origins, who i am, and what i do and dont with
my spare time in a not so nice tone,
passionate but uninformed.
and the audience is like, "wow!"
and im backstage getting my make-up
touched up staring at the monitors,
listening to this and seeing the title,
i got a 14 year old pregnant 
saying, "what the...huh?"
while being prodded toward the
main stage entrance
by hands and heads wrapped
in headsets
being reassured that
ill be okay as i wonder
if i will be okay.
if i have any downers left
in the hotel room.
coming out to a chorus
of boos thinking,
"you have to be kidding me guys,
oh man."
i dont really remember what happened
before the reveal, the results,
the climax and resulting falling action,
just that no matter what i said
no matter how true or untrue it was
i was just met by razor sharp words and
insults hidden in reactionary questions.
i was all entertainment and we all had
our part to play, we all had to do that
dance like good little sluts
except we just did it because of exposure
or in my case circumstance.
so i just sat there after a couple of minutes
scratching the fake wood on the armrest
of the chair with a worn down fingernail
not really paying attention to what i was saying
just saying things when im supposed to
for the sake of saying something.
because that was what they wanted.
but i knew i really didnt
have to do anything
just sit and wait
because
god sent me here to rock
them and you,
and in a couple minutes ill make
it hot, and in a few minutes even hotter.
it's up to them to
figure out whether or not im
good or bad
because ill never know.
when the results are read,
she is not pregnant,
but i am.
two years ago we met through an internet forum.
he wanted to be a teenage girl,
and i wanted to be an older teenage boy.
so we switched places,
which wasn't hard because
with a little make-up
and hair dye he passed
as a 12 year old she.
he passed as me or who i used to be.
my mom never paid enough attention
to notice.
the producers with shocked
faces asked for close ups
of all faces involved
and audience reactions,
speaking into their microphones,
"where else will the story go?"
but in my mind the story had already reached its
conclusion: the topic was ass to begin with.