Deteriorating in a cacophony of anger and forgiveness. Understanding that what I believed to be the sins of my parents were in fact their simple shortcomings. Probably handed down from generation to generation. Running terrified through my middle-aged deep dark woods, whistling to keep myself preoccupied, when realize that my own self-imposed faults are likely identical to those of my folks in the way their likeness manifests. Self-hatred. Self-loathing. Body shamed.

All of this with no real concrete evidence.

Relocate.

Double plate omelet coffee water pancake. Exercise breakfast snow storm shovel. Hat, gloves, sneakers. Better luck next time.

The trouble doesn’t lie within your preferred gender, the trouble lies within your inability to mind your own business and avoid making everything about you.

Notes on doors. Flowers in clouded vases. Napkin. Granite. Water bottle.

Paper straws and plastic cups. Powdered sugar spread across stainless steel. Expo. Runner. Extraordinaire.

Curtain. Biscuit. Stapler. Two hats backwards and one toward the front. It’ll be a note on an aeroplane and a little boy named David. There is no record that the poem was ever written.

Eyeglass mustache. Must ask muskox. Ten times fast. Repeat and rinse. Read the conditioner bottle in the bath tub. Relish chin deep in the warm water and make sure you’re not late for school. Bathroom remodel adult money miracle. Ten jars of maple syrup and a monkey in the zoo.