I can tell stories through feeling rather than rule.
I know nothing is ever really true.
Who is my father’s father’s mother’s sister’s daughter
down the line (look no further) -
that’s where I got my green eyes from (I think).
and my fingernails, too, long and dirty,
Flirting with blood and snapping under pressure (just like me)
just like the branches on the cherry tree
protected from wolves (who love cherries)
by my guardian angel who pees standing up while holding a machete.
Our minds are so powerful - (I know you can see her) -
and still we decide to hold on to things that are so so sad.
But change your mind change your past.
I wrote your name on my hand last night so you’d think of me today.
Let me know if it works.
Let me know what to say.