People like us



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You’re like some kind of butterfly collector
but instead of butterflies
pressed dry and senseless into your scrapbook
it’s things-you-think-you-know-about-people

Your scrapbook’s got some kind of
incomprehensible taxonomy
of your own subconscious devising:

(A) high foreheads / perverts
(B) cardigan smells sour / perverts
(C) men who wear cardigans (not sour) / check (G)
(D) slow walkers / possible immigrants
(E) tame ones / to be avoided, unless (H)
(F) fabulous ones / investigate further
(G) men who’ve read Borges / bf material
(H) cat-lovers / saints
(I) dog-lovers / possible xenophobes
(J) athletic / care too much for own appearance
(AND) so
(ON) and
(SO) forth

People like you are item (K) in my scrapbook:
mermaids (or sirens) / people who give people like me a bad name

Join the library



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I went in search of the greatest love poem ever:

In between work emails
I sexted succubi for research purposes
and catfished centaurs to see how they ticked
I learned pan flute from goat-toed pickup artists
and could hold a tune, but it wasn’t very good.

Weekends, I drove to ancient burial sites
and got lost in the dark
excavating bodies to weep on their remains
It was as disgusting as it sounds
I even chased a ghost for a couple of years
but she eventually grew scared and vanished

And then I found it
four fucking lines in a $30 book
while eating ice cream at the park

Might hit the library soon
it seems more cost-effective