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.