It's all too much
so I took a selfie.
I literally can't even
so I checked Facebook on my phone.
My hair was off so I stroked it to the side and took another selfie to check
but it was off again so I watched myself in the camera's opposite and tried again to fix it but it wasn't doing what I wanted
and you were talking the whole time,
telling me how I owe you
because I charged admission.
Well, you came to see.
My hair is still awful so I'm pulling it all out.
I'm smashing it against my forehead
so it'll lay flat
and I look through fists.
A grey cat crawls on me anyway.
My body is warm;
she feels a need.
An argument wilts in my head.
I pick up my phone so she can't see.
I finish this poem,
feel her grey breath that comes out in ratchets.
Identity is just pride, & that,
too, is an argument.
I'll check my texts when it comes up.