The People Can Have a Little Trauma Bond, as a Treat

I’m people. One day, I’ll be a meme or put a QR code to my Cashapp on communion wafers.
You scan, pay, then let it dissolve— through you, with you, in you, etc.

Cut your teeth at a 45 degree angle this valerian root smells like feet we smell like feet we’re healing, pulling coconut oil from our toes, swishing it in our mouths bleeding in droves onto our thighs I’m menstrual

aching, and you know what? I was luteal, breaking. This is not the first time I’ve felt forsaken and pulled. The sun is a Gemini and she’s a dragonfly. I’m a plant washed downstream. The world is replete with natural metaphors I’m just a lowly collector of fragments.

Walter Benjamin was a fuckboy smoking opium and bothering sex workers. How much theory is made bedrock from people who got to play more who never experienced consequences who ate every meal I mean, do you wonder?

Remember me like this: excavator, intrepid, and close to the wound. Mountains part like legs towards the sea. Tears are free face drugs. Salt, kiss my skin and balance my broken heart. Hug my sodium nerves. I’m a lush for things that break, recede, break again.

Image: Photo by Luca Galuzzi (Lucag), edit by Trialsanderrors, CC BY-SA 2.5, via Wikimedia Commons.