i hope you thought,
when i walked away,
rain will always come again
and you will never get that kesha song outta yr head.
and i hope you go to yr dorms and use google and i hope you go to yr local sister school for the music and it feels like church.
and i tonight for a second,
in the bathroom,
i should go to church tomorrow.
and then i stood in front of the mirror and watched myself place my open right hand over my open left hand and say amen like yes like cannibalism for jesus and his body. like saying amen whispering amen to the elderly people that hand out the host at catholic mass. a year ago my grandpa asked my father if there was a catholic church near my school, because to him it matters and to me i lied to my mirror image in a moment of faithlessness at a break from a dance party that i was throwing with too much pop and too many chips and the world caving in on my pop music sensibilities. because i may have been flirting with a boy who likes billy joel, this kid who may have a girlfriend and uses a complicated word to say that he feels comfortable in his gender. and i definitely broke a girl's heart or maybe just scratched a cube into its surface with a thumbtack because she's been telling herself stories. i can't blame her for fabrication. i spend ages on fabrication. i spent eighteen years fabricating and dismantling a personal christian lie and now i work in the realm of the third dimension and metaphor. the tactile and the unsaid where i got married onstage last night. it was a dream that could come true if i spent more time at my loom and less time tying knots in my yarn.
he climbed 9 feet in the air and i played the only tune that could be "our song" and dropped my flowers on purpose. the world is a funny one when you are the comic relief and don't get to the microphone because charisma and art direction are what's expected, but not delivered. so i make small talk with the first-years and hope to see them again - why not? for a few minutes i got to talk in the words that feel most right, get back in touch with the basements, before i have to fall asleep and wake up a night later in the skin we all expect and again sink into faithlessness.