So you felt like kissing yourself in the bathroom

mirror, all tongue and all slipperiness and chemicals,

all cold-tasting and probably not at all hygienic, and

of course there was no love there, how could there be,

all that because your face was just there and you

wondered what it would feel like, you’ve always let

curiosity get the best of you anyways, it’s no

surprise, but this was the furthest thing from romantic.

Look, that was stupid, see how silly you feel now and

pickle that idiocy in a jar so you remember it,

you’re not a child anymore, all grown up and a

Kisser. Quit the Kid Act. But then you feel like going

off in a tirade, like why am I born here Mama and why

am I born now Mama and why am I like this

Mama have you seen me up close like this, like

this deformed planet I see nose-to-nose in a mirror, because

this is ugly.

And now the Jar of Idiocy bloats in your stomach until

you feel maybe you should throw it up and then you’ll

be able to do this all over again tomorrow when you’re

looking for the same things and you’ll find the same things like

the tongue and the surface and maybe even the love.