the book of love

Going away to come back different, changed. Isn't that what I've been taught to do? Trees peeking little kinds of green, mind lost on a loop. I'm over being over & over. Say it out loud, giant, big, fat, jinx. Curl my lip at the thought of another friend like you. I crave grease and sugar. I yearn for blood and release. I get so antsy waiting. Fond of motion or the lack of control in controlling. My life is a bird, feet glued to the tree. How many times can a justification be "aesthetic reasons"? Mentally plotting my drive home.

I'm hiding inside myself. In fear, fear, fear. Remember young one, it's what comes out of you. It pours out of you and starts the chain back in. This is the machine your soul is hooked up to. Catch and release, release, release. Spiritual, primal it is to fish. To do the thing named for the thing you're seeking to catch. What could possibly be original language? Touch, glance, movement, pulse? A thing tugs at me.

How can I be selfish? This thing they want me to be? This thing they try to beat me to be? Stuck in birthing pains, growing pains, feel myself knowing pains. This wound circles me. I'm a part of nature as much as I am computer, as much as I am goose. I'm back with the geese today, the honking.