a past, a pasture

first lines: “tell me the past.”
                                                     “which one?”

yours? it’s blurry, out of place,
             out of order – you probably
                         loved your father at some point,
             but it’s a candle-holder now.
                         it’s tricky, covered up in fur
                         because it was too cold sometimes.
             i can’t, darling, for the life of me,
             figure out what your animal was.

mine? it’s a dead dragonfly
             on my pillow, messing with
                          my dreams. a garden snake
             fucking up my insides, coiling
                          its way through filth, rising up until
                          there’s vomit at the back of my
                          throat. i must have loved a lot of
             people who didn’t deserve it.
                          they must have stabbed me at least
                                       once. i might have even returned
                          the favor. it’s meeting eyes with
                                       a wild cat and finding out who
                                       breaks first while i have never quite
                          figured out how to play that game.

the world’s? it’s saddening. we want
                          to elevate ourselves emotionally but
             often refrain from doing so. i watch
             lovers lose their words in a fiery heat,
                         battles of hands and hands in different
                                      places, vulnerability won when the man
                         hears her sigh. i watch frowns of
                         disapproval for the strange, smiles
                                      for the kind-hearted on the street.
             the orchids blooming, the trees
swaying, the way we are always,
                                                              always searching.

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