The Dog in Me

This Poem is All I Can Squeak Out For Now

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 involved 

In its decision 

Are dogs it or they?

I attempt to hold myself a certain way 

Achieve the correct volume of existence 

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 inquire 

But it scares me when it barks 

And I’d hate to be caught dancing for it 

In the way I am wont to do

A dance of self

What realm of hell do I exist in?

Whose rules convince me 

That a strange dog yelling at me 

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 it 

The dog usually only barks at night 

Poor girl 

She’s afraid

She only knows how to protect

And love

But a dog cannot love itself 

A dog cannot love itself 

xo,

A