Does Sappho Love Anxious Lesbians?: a poem

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Two spritzes of confidence on each cheek,

makeup for shattered skin and shaken 

dreams. Wrong, wrong, wrong, the fruit

isn't ready and neither are you.


Bills fly away with burning wings

can objects be of Icarus' spirit

with age running delayed to her

expectations?


Colorful dolls in layers of shine

match the beats of a younger heart

laugh without lies, smile without cries

Take me home so I feel warm inside?


Maybe I should be warm all on my own

nothing to offer, no sweet to balance out the sour

burn that diploma so no one thinks I'm a liar

after all, age is just a societal number


Don't got a job, don't have a life, does that mean

I'm failing on both sides? Sometimes I forget I don't feel

ready to know the ocean won't sweep me away

for knowing that I am behind you.


Mind and biology pull in opposite directions

pushed in front of an oncoming train with no sense of being

ready. Phases of joy smashed into a thousand pieces on a pre-marked

date of expiration 


Living world shoves you out the door of ages 

before you're ready, so you hide the clock's 

delay of a thousand milliseconds. 

Self-discovery comes seven years too late.

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