by Isaac Robertson
I am a passenger
I am a child of God and friend of God and a cider drinker.
I am a woman in love.
I live my life in the city
the way I want.
I live in Spanish and I love in Japanese.
Sometimes I don’t want to live, but tell me:
why can’t I cry?
Please help me Google.
I can’t decide if I want to be with him
or if I want an abortion.
I’m scared of myself, that I have breast cancer, that I am gay.
I am so influenced by disulfide linkages and personal feelings.
Am I ugly? Or autistic?
Why do I never want sex? The last thing I want to do is
to see meaning—
then why do I sweat so much larger than life?
Please help me God.
Why are you running?
What is it that disturbs you?
Please
help me to stop coughing and
biting my nails and drinking.
How is it that
the mother of my Lord should come, come dine with me?
How is it that ye sought me?
Answer to life, the universe, and everything:
I should live in salt.
I should live
and not die.
