There’s a moment where you aren’t sure

if a train is going to crash through the wall of your bedroom

or if the heater is just turning on slowly.

I can see the uncertainty in your eyes.

I’m never certain,

not one hundred per cent,

which page we’re on in the script,

but I got good at improv I guess

because no one hated me until


one person did.

And hate,

is an obvious tornado,

comical and fierce,

that never fully

allows you to stop and think.

And loneliness,

is the eye

slave to thought pushing

everything always in

every direction,

yet calm— a calf in the moment it becomes Halal.

Yes, people are all magnetized,

puzzle pieces,

pushing and pulling in various directions,

waiting to fit,

desperate to be seen from some other camera angle,

and it’s exhausting.

So we excuse a little hate.


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