I go AWOL in the H&M,
French manicure moldy
and my hair a too-real rat
nest of corrugated truths.
I feel antipathy for your blog,
zine, podcast, band, parody
Twitter account. I’m like
the Sun Yat-sen of not caring.
I’m about to get virulent about
this kale salad. My horoscope says
I should avoid margarine, HPV,
and drama queens.
My heart is a blood moon pumped
full of peace on Earth and pop rocks.
I wanna eat Chick-fil-A as I drown
in the tub. I wanna cry about cute dogs.