emotionally involved

let’s explore the idea of being an emotional whore:

mom and dad yelled at me today in the form of precautions—their never-waning warning to avoid emotional involvement.

sometimes, as soon as i finish a poem, i send it off to the critic of the month;

i sleep around in the form of sharing something

more sacred than my virginity—

thoughts deepest

in the form of melodies,

eager for approval—

even if it is to come from unsure obligation.

people who don’t understand what i say

will praise the horseshit that spills out

late at night.

after half imagined glasses of champagne,

after late night songs playing in

circuits of mellow remembrances,

after guards have been lowered and inhibitions dissolved,

when my pencil floats across with perfect scrawl, when my words and ends of lines

start to carelessly rhyme—

these are the thoughts i should keep to myself.

these are the thoughts i should sort out

before i share, the ones that beg for an edit

—but i like to share the most vulnerable

parts of myself out there

before i have accepted myself, i beg

of others for their applause.

i am emotionally enthralled with the idea of

an audience.

this makes me an easy target for devastation

and this makes my artistic tragedy a

masterpiece that belongs to many.

take credit for my creation,

anyone who has participated in my heartbreak.

i know that you’re only interested with the

revenue of self-benefit.

so, go, with my soul and with yours—

everyone in my life lives twice,

immortalized in my words.

isn’t it nice to be remembered?

emotionally involved, which i swore never to be.

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