dear

a diatribe written immediately upon waking from a dream, immediately after falling asleep after being immediately abandoned.

dear i wait for
you but for me not
you dear i am not sorry
i chose you in quarters and
would choose you, too, by tens,
in dimes.
dear, dear! i'm never
done dear and i know,
you hate my poems you hate
my dearing of you you hate
yourself but dear don't, dear
don't. dear i slept for 12 hours i
dreamt of dying dear where they
killed all the women with a powder and
you watched from the arms of a man
restraining you from me i didn't
breathe in the powder dear i didn't i waited
in abandoned bathrooms for you dear
to return and you did as you do as
you won't as you said dear i can't you
can't you couldn't but who will be
the little spoon now dear, who will look
at my little neck hairs now who will remind me
i'm good who will remind you you're not
stressed dear who? dear who
are you if you're not your
self around me who are you that
self around, yourself dear?

because that
is just called lonely that is
just called selfaware and that is
not as rare as you think dear and i am
just as rare as you think dear and i mean
not hard to find i mean pink, i mean
tender.