yes.

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Image courtesy of: Frida Aguilar Estrada

don’t remember the taste
of stars so we fill ourselves
on vodka and rum. dilute
the night with bright, fizzling
expectations so we can
shoot down disappointment
in familiar tumbler glass.

watch the hours drip-tick by
as all these soft sticky souls
search for more than sallow
shadows of self in fellow
stranger’s gaze. alas, it is in
the peripheries that I remain.
how can one win without
being told how to play the game,
nothing to blame beyond birth
and poor choices after
that have led to what I became.

as drinks tip and lips slip,
I find myself floating amongst
the sea of people, sway in
humid-breathed wind and breathe
the sweatied salt-spray. hold onto the
rainbows reflected in buoyant
disco balls to remind myself that the
spectrum of colours in my veins
spills an infinite greater than the
circumference of circumstance,

Continue reading “yes.”