Pikachu Still Makes Me Cry

There’s a quieting that 
comes with 
wet winters.

We take the bones and
vitamins and 
we buy
our grocery-store pizza
with money that’s 
not ours, hoping
that the help will
keep.

We play pokemon 
& cry in our
diapers.

The World’s too
real and I think
that the
lighter’s gone
dry. & I cry
everyday.

lets hurt
& hurt
eachother
till rain flows
Gods promised 
wine spilt for
her earth.

but I can’t help
but feel like a
total monster for
my birth.
But did it ever really mean a thing?

I trail my fingers with
the wine to my
asshole, I lick
it up with the tongue 
that is the middle 
finger which is 
the one my lesbian 
friends like to
fuck with.

I wish I was born
a fucktoy before 
someone decided 
I could 
put out.
Then maybe 
I’d be excused 
from blame.
Maybe nobody
could mind the
arrogance of
wanting to be
a plaything outside
the confines of 
psychology and joy.

Some of us just
want to set 
our chest hairs
on fire, & I
see now that the
circumstances of
our birth can’t 
keep one from
growing up
the slut.