I often worry that I’m unique
Not peculiarly unique (no pixies or dreams but perhaps a hefty dose of mania)
But that I’m solitary,
Grotesquely Singular
I often worry that I’m not unique
Not in any way that matters
Girding myself in sorrow like everyone else
Convinced the most pointed is reserved for me alone
When it’s the same run-of-the-mill fuckshit everyone hates
Another run-of-the-mill woman watching herself empty bit by bit with shoddy incredulous acceptance while she looks around like a child at the pool ready to show off his most mediocre dive to parents who’ve watched a thousand other mediocre dives
”Watch this!”
Watch as life trickles, then rushes, then trickles away
Each trickle a tsunami to her
Womb like a hard cloying pebble, its silent throes necessarily muffled
I wish I could rest without a glut of tears
But I will only be a dry corpse