Countless nights I have bailed
myself out the next day. Kinds
of lucky escapes. I have fucked
up under the guise of drunk, a
costume I knew I could wear.
I am ashamed of the monster
who wandered gardens of
knowing not to tread where
he did not belong, venturing
deeper into woods to pick
mushrooms– knowing one of
these times he wouldn’t return.


(originally published in Time of Singing, Spring 2020)

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