Organised Affection

It’s funny how we blame beauty on “good genes”,

spend $198 on a stupid pair of pants.

We lay awake at night

five inches from his comatose

bones thinking how we’d rather be breathing in the weight

of her troubled mind, but she always reeked

of good intentions.

We settle for him because the way our DNA intertwines

makes the nostalgia disappear.


We seek approval from our estranged parents

only to find they never knew us at all.

Recitals, graduation, birthdays attended by

a couple of victims on a string,

circulation cut off by the adoration of bruised children.


To say we’re sorry only minimizes the hurt. We

write an open letter to the world, how we need

love. We search for and lean

on tables or people or whatever will hold us.

Her mind set free like a canary in a cage with

arms like wings, held high.


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