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I walk around my three-story
stucco covered brick row home
with no vestibule
looking like butter wouldn’t melt in my cunt
I mean my mouth
I just put that there to make sure
you’re paying attention
maybe I have a character problem
a perception problem
it’s really a you-problem
you see I look morose
stuck up
but I’m actually extremely affable
effable
I mean ineffable
forgive me father for I have sinned
I have coveted a treacherous man
I have method acted my way
into compliance
complicity
only reading and watching the scenes that I’m in
so I can say you’re good
not knowing the full truth
not really lying.
remember the things you told me
in the dreams I have and don’t have
everything we only talked about
written down on a refrigerator list
photocopied and handed out as party favors
in a hallway
outside of an empty classroom
with paper all over the floor
that we kicked around in a makeshift game
to distract from the voices outside screaming
whose shindig was it anyway
to confess and be confessed to
negatively and positively
kneeled and stripped down on the wet floor
shadows sharpened by too bright fluorescents
the neighborhood church choir hummed
A Hymn For The Things We Didn’t Do
we can’t see them but know they’re there
I lean over now to tell you a story
my throat a lump of dried silt
you look at the ceiling
all I can think is, oh my god it’s me again
saying something enough times
can make it true in a way
you exit to the left
stage left
my left
leave it up to interpretation
run your fingers along its vagrancies
Twitter: @alexandranaught
IG: @alexandranaughton
