On a Cellular Level

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I require so little of myself in an age where nearly everyone is famous online. I just want to eat red meats and do headstands on the discomfort of my own dead lawn. I do not want to “give back!”

A psychologist will tell me that all of this is unhealthy. But things happen when we are kids, so what. “Exploring” them makes us fall in sick piles on the linoleum. Besides, I get a kick out of people when they try to describe which things are “good” for them.

You arrive. You do mean things to me, different than the previous mean things done by others: new mean things, which are exciting. Sometimes when I am alongside you in the forest and your hair is neatly parted or other times while I am snuggled inside your orange hoodie there is so much meaning in the world, for example how you just said rat’s nest up here on top of the cereal factory and slapped my tit.

A psychologist would tsk, Even after seventy-six sessions, the impulse to glorify the brown-gray chewing gum smashed in her braids.

I would like to announce to everyone below the factory smog that in this moment where you hug me closer until I am a dainty cloud in your mouth, you are the most amazing creature ever to walk this planet. A psychologist will never get how it is so truly amazing and breathtaking that so many of us are still alive; how despite eroding sequins and lost hairlines, we go on blooming on and on and on like galaxies, bacteria, or ants.