People think they are more
interesting than they actually are.
I found myself fascinating,
but I have stopped thinking about
dying now and that is boring.
Now I want babies.
No, I want to be a modern
Hillary-voting plus-size rebel-in-a-bag woman
but I reckon if I put my mind to it
I’d be a baby-making machine-woman
conflict has me ruminating
on the pisser every night, 4am
a man gave me a light in the airport smoking room
a girl ran after me with a dropped glove
like a careless whisper in -15 New
York. If you prod at people when
you are smoking or sad, you will find
that they are as easily peeled as
oranges. People are
more interesting than they think they are, but I don’t know where they hide.