it likes you
and it’s breathing
it can smell you on his
breath and now
it hungers
yes, it wants to feed
on you
oh, god, it’s
breathing

and you’re running
but escape is not an
option when it likes you
like it does
and it can smell you
on his breath and
it is hungry

like every monster
always is

i dream someday
due to lack of recognition
(in my own lifetime)
my poems will be dug up
perhaps by some digital
archaeologist
finding pages ruffled
and singed from burning
stanzas lost through the years

perhaps like emily
they will find
my poetry worth only
a glance
to be moved on,
forgotten

and while i’ll never be
recognized for great words
for one small moment
perhaps

they’ll know i knew just
how poorly i wrote
and forever remember me
as awkwardly
painfully
self-aware

dress it up proper
take tums so it wont fart
stuff it, pad it, use botox
teach them to call it art