bent

there's half of a backwards consolation  
in the trash  
along with the rest of the junk mail  
that had someone else's name on it  
and I've been considering    
making a paper mache fuck you    
with it  
so I could leave a greeting on the front door    
for future reference  
in case someone remembered  
I existed    
   
pardon my instability  
I've been molding mud  
between my toes  
thinking of all the wheelchairs  
that I've never had    
and the privilege that brings  
to be disgusted    
by a different set of feet  
today  
   
my sadness called me beautiful  
as I mildewed  
sitting in the rain  
with deaf ears
nothing wrong with that  
I'm feeling claustrophobic    
by the emptiness of the countryside  
and it's smothering me  
in a way I don't know  
how to feel about  
   
pardon my indecision  
I want to make myself  
three dimensional  
more dynamic  
and distracted  
for the next four hours  
ninety seven minutes  
and six thousand five hundred twenty one seconds    
before I'm incomprehensible    
about how I see myself  
again