i am not myself
but i am myself
turning over and over again
clear is only
what we think we know
when we don't know anything at all
about first kisses
and other things that make the head fade and touch onto memory
and the way history rewrites itself into a place we think we might want to live
but can't
or won't
given time
desperation and exasperation
sometimes leaves me failing in a string of words that feel
unforgivable and often the only ones i have to offer