In moments-like these.

   
   
Forking out more cash
than the president has    
just to maintain life    
chews at my heart like    
vultures on a skinless    
carcass  
(though, the heart is just a shape.)    
    
Does it matter
that I’m unacceptable?    
    
Who knows yet we can label it.    
    
If they asked me to    
choose a relationship status    
with choices like    
single or    
taken    
I’d almost certainly    
ink the words    
“who fucking cares”    
to the monitor    
in permanent marker    
then burn bread    
(Don’t have a toaster.)    
   
Or sit and stare at the stars    
for hours and hours    
before I    
sleep    
with the moon    
holding on to    
that feeling    
in my gut    
“done it”!    
   
And loved it  
   
   
[.]