Fuck being a poet I wanna be a TikTok chick
          who never says what she means
for fear of going unheard   un
                                               -alive, sewer slide, that’s all poetry is
          anyway, crass euphemism, sidling
                        up to a stranger and smirking You know
what I mean as if conferring a
                                              tiny curse or secret handshake,
like prostitution but worse, cheaper,
          unsolicited— my medical debt got sold to collections
          last year so now
                                I sit and let my phone ring itself dead, pennies
                                on the dollar I’m assuming but
          I’m dying to know how
much my suffering is worth
          in retrospect rubbernecker in the thick
of my own wreck—
                                don’t get me wrong I’m still beholden
to wants can’t clean my teeth without
                                           sticking the brush into
                     my uvula and making myself gag I mean
          after all these years I still don’t know how else I’m
meant to feel clean