I have built myself
too many unstable
homes in the bellies
of clocks, asking
for more time to
become myself
before it is again
time for me to

I miss too many
versions of myself
to keep track.

These homes are
all falling in on
themselves, asking
why I could not find
it in myself to visit,
even once they no
longer held my name
underneath their

I suppose I did not
want them getting
too attached.

moving out of decaying bodies, Emma Bleker

An old man outside the
7-Eleven whistles that
song about staying until
the morning, and I almost
ask him if she ever did.

I want to tell him about
my grandfather.

I want to tell him that
most of the people I
know that have chosen
to settle down are
wildly unhappy.

I want to tell him that I
can see their souls leave
their bodies on thin
strings of allowance when
asked if they are happy.

I want to tell him that I
am afraid they never
will be.

I think about asking him
if she left, or if she had
ever even been there to
begin with.

I think about telling him
how worried I am that I
will be humming some
song about lost love as
I pump my gas, some
number of years from now.

I worry he will take
it the wrong way.

I know I would
take it the wrong

was she ever there, Emma Bleker

That’s what really scares me.

Falling in love is easy. Having sex is easier. But bumping into someone that can spark your soul - that shit is rare.

You could fuck four, five, all the people in a god damned room and you’d only feel a connection with one. Or none at all.

And what sucks is despite the undeniable real magnetic pull between the two of you, more often than not, you don’t end up together.

I’m afraid I won’t meet anyone else I can connect with.

I’m scared it’ll be just you.