Rotten Rotten Little Thing

Despite the mass of my body I still feel tiny. In the scheme of things I suppose I am, in this screaming universe.

I can't wait around to be bitten into, like a worm in a dusty orchard apple. I feel strong. But less needful of human contact.

I like the snatches of intimacy I have with my lover, all tender and true but without burden of tether or label. I love the letters I get from my cousins, penned in a language that I am rapidly losing. I love the moments when my mother doesn't slur when we speak, when that perfect connection can be made.

I suppose I have realized that the only thing holding me back all this time was me...my fear. I press my hand against my chest, feeling my heart pump with longing and sped up from cheap champagne. And I am content.

I feel like now I live how I want. My terms. It feels like a guitar smashing victory motherfuckers.