Dear Reader,
You’ll be pleased to know I still exist despite my lack of content. Will you, though? Be pleased? Maybe you’ve been plotting my downfall. Maybe one of you is responsible for the shitstorm that has been Summer 2024, poking my voodoo doll with vengeful needles, cursing me. I am not feeling like myself, whoever she is. I am clawing out of the cocoon I’ve built for myself that has kept my creative impulses at bay, starting with this poem. I hope we can love ourselves today. Woof.
Sometimes, a dog in my neighborhood barks at me
When I pass by
Other times, it does not
I have yet to discern the variables involvedÂ
In its decisionÂ
Are dogs it or they?
I attempt to hold myself a certain wayÂ
Achieve the correct volume of existenceÂ
As not to stir him
And when it does not bark at me, I am good
I am the Good Girl
There is a sign on the fence that conveys this particular animal’s status as being Up For Grabs
I would inquireÂ
But it scares me when it barksÂ
And I’d hate to be caught dancing for itÂ
In the way I am wont to do
A dance of self
What realm of hell do I exist in?
Whose rules convince meÂ
That a strange dog yelling at meÂ
Decides if I’m good or bad?
Who is this dog in me?
Sniffing the ass of the Cursed Ever-Mirror
Must I be beautiful inside of a task?
If I’m to really think about itÂ
The dog usually only barks at nightÂ
Poor girlÂ
She’s afraid
She only knows how to protect
And love
But a dog cannot love itselfÂ
A dog cannot love itselfÂ
xo,
A