Originally published in Raleigh Review. Vol 10.1. Spring 2020.
I don’t know anything about waiting
My friends are all so neon I’m sitting on my bed
And time is such a waste,
The idea of meaning is such a waste
I’m so good at coordinating outfits
That I think the window is open just for
The birds to witness me pairing things
My hair is so blonde now for Clarissa
It takes so much purple shampoo and so
Much meaning to become a person
I think identity must be a waste too
I so think I don’t know anything that waiting
For a visitor is just me in front of my mirror
Narrating to an invisible camera
All by being
All my neon friends are on their way
All the subways form a ladder to my window
Oh Clarissa
How all rotations desire to be a line
I’m spinning in front of the mirror with
All my new lipcolors admiring
All the me
All the mornings are glowy and Nickelodeon
Oh how this sitcom resists meaning
All my friends come to my window
So perfectly curating sense
Explain to me
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