(for Elon Musk)
I don’t blame you for leaving love
checking her watch at the bar.
That instead, you panic-texted six different Patricks,
got everyone shitfaced,
came home alone and tipped camgirls
until one of them said what you needed to hear.
I get it!
There are times when this feels
like walking across Texas on my hands.
But it’s the only way to remember what I am.
Maybe you felt it, once.
The suspicion that your life is a Christmas dream,
where the lights are still on at the end.
When they told you that there wasn’t enough,
that you had to earn it,
they were repeating a lie.
I’m so sorry.
They didn’t know.
They thought they were helping.
They were trying to keep you safe.
My conviction is
(in this body,
in another,
in the in-between),
you will learn what it is like
to be kissed.
tacohole dot net 