“we LOVE the gays!”

this isn’t even what it’s about.

the point is we’re so lonely we’ve
taken to fucking and falling
in love with drug dealers
or no one or other peoples’

taken to single lifestyles
and breakups and independence,
to drinking and to pretty words
and to humoring people like you

as if these are our callings,
as if love is not the one
thing we want for
and hurt, quiet
and heavy
and hard—

as if love is not the one
thing forgotten here.

the point is our homes were the graves of
the feelings we first learned
to bury. and yours were the way
mom and dad danced
in the movies. and you
learned your first crush
in words between pillows
at the sleepovers where
we learned ours
in the silence where
you were sleeping
we wondered at your
want: how something
so alien could…

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