originally published on September 1 2018
I look at her like at ATM
She doesn’t mind
How much love can I give before she charges
Or waits for that money smell to pour out
Like slot machine menstruation
Somehow we always orbit around each other
Not quite touching, like a boxer’s tango
I let her win because it stops the bleeding
Stops the universe from collapsing
I don’t mind
She never cares to hold me in my filth
I beg her to wash my hair or my mind
She pushes my buttons like an ATM
How much hurt can she put in before a heart comes out
And can she trade it in for a man