28 Wild at heart.

Tender love, morning sickness vomit.
Somewhere after the third viewing
of rocky horror, and just before david lynch,
something snaps; so far out, too far in.

You people. Your people. The smart ones.
What kind of person is that? I know.
I know. The ones who crawl forward,
quiet claws, bended knee smiling.

And I step lightly, holding my belly,
wiping my lips, acid bile mouth,
tired eyes… alive and growing
within calling my soul forward.

I call to you father, as to you
mother, neither whom I really know,
and wonder why I am borne. And we end up
where we end up almost by default:
your little weapon of choice.
Wild at heart.