Haiku for Adulthood #37-#42


It was in your bed

I finally grasped the

value of destruction.

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To write about one’s

self is to go from subject

to object, and back.

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What I loved about

you was—perversely—all

I despised in myself.

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You never called it

making love—I was only

yours for the taking.

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I want men to perceive

me as threatening—

not just a distraction.

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And here’s a non-serious one, for posterity.

Things that always amuse

me: Men on scooters,

“special sauce,” marmosets.

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Related:

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