Temptation binds me to the past, with unbreakable elastic. My pain is a public theatre that everyone can see. It is no doubt, entertaining. I am a holistic trainwreck, an honest monologue. The contemporary indigo child, a clubside whistleblower. I have been subject to pedestrian dismay since 15. Procuring outrage and disbelief like wildflowers. Why begin to care, now? What anyone thinks of me is none of my business. Even if I have to inadvertently feel it. I am an anomaly, a spectacle. I bet my name rolls and glides off the tongue.  Even if I am spiraling skywards, homeward bound to that invisible safety- I procure unremarkable moths- eating my light. Unremarkable mimics. 

Lightwork is just honesty. Honesty is not popular.

My definitions of love and friendship belong to wartime pagan ireland, where the slight of tongue would be fatal. I dish out what I expect. I require a cause, a mission, a purpose. Fetch the dragon tranquilizers so I can be like you. Numb me. Subdue my outrage. Box up my rage. Doll me up like a drag queen. Disguise me. Conceal me. Distract me. Make me an accessory. Show me non-chalance. Make me pornography. Calcify my heart. Teach me moral ambivalence, trite gossip and bordem. Asphyxiate me til I tune out. Drown me in your shallow waters, baptize me in your apathy. Teach me your backwards system, show me your charts of celebrities and moguls. Shoot my knee caps til I am kneeling before them.

Because I can’t and won’t.

I don't give a fuck.