Yes, I am my own myth. Cartwheeling
through downtown’s empty carousel,
my spandex so tight it’ll make you believe
in justice. That night, under the gazebo,
the Gotham skyline shimmered like the flame
of a birthday candle. I wished to always
be in on the joke. Later, we were dancing
like a fistfight, his mouth full of baseball
bat apologies. But for a second, I believed
him, when he said we could live in his laugh
forever, carving up the city side by side.
It took a long time for that dream to shatter,
but when it did, it hurt just like home.
So fuck Destiny’s ferris wheel, her endless
circles of should have and meant to be.
Above that acid, I was gorgeous, strung
up like a guitar or a fish, ready to be gutted.
For the Joker to swallow me and spit me out
as a bone. This is the part people get twisted:
Harleen jumped on her own, like mezcal
into morning coffee. It wasn’t such a crime,
really. After all, who cares about
a better future? I want a better past.