meaningless
scratches
stronger than you
i’m not stronger than you
dancing in the kitchen alone
with a knife i forget isn’t
a microphone i’m
singing to my minced onions
through stinging tears
except it’s not singing
i am trying to emulate a scratch
godayumn what the fu-uck
i tell my tomatoes
sounds that remind me
of
i want to be someone’s static
bass drop heart you know
nonsensical utterances
how she speaks to me, through me
when i know every sound is feedback
desperate ooze and goo
ay aya y ayayaya ayaya
aya ayayyayayyayayayayayayay
yay yyyy yyy yyyyy AYYYY AYYyyyyy YAY AY AY AYA AY AY AY AY AY AYYA YAYYAYY
mind mush, you and me
except it’s just me, even better
hit that G
my eyes seal into upturned lips
slats of skin hoarding my joy
there’s a pandemic, meaning i can’t just
grind up against girl hips us shedding each other’s
moonlight at shimmering, thumping
ballroom venues and get sent home
for being too rowdy
because i’m already home grinding
against thin air, spilling my drinks
a greasy blade i wave to the world
because i am so happy and relieved that
my authentic self is a fucking giddy child
and that’s 100 gecs
gec, i simply must tell you
i have a ginormous fucking smile
plotting constellations across
my girlish face
gec like homily, like music right
because we’re listening and by ‘we’
i mean you and me, yeah you
i put his name in my contacts
xoxoxoxoxo
i never fucking touch him, grody
but i fuck him subtle because
submissiveness is my dominance is
my superpower
i love you and i’ll do it all again
music so loud you think the
car sounds are real wrapped up inside the
living room with you and the walls
what we call ‘hotboxing’
we graduate from minivans to
studio apartments before you know it
like, let’s hotbox the bedroom
let’s fuck in bright lights and smoke
it’s always you
my therapist doesn’t like you, she says UGHHHH
when i talk about her and i’m like lol
u get it right (again)
i dream of girls who are so sexually
intuitively so vibrantly so alive
so not you at all
i don’t believe in resurrection
i like a good scratch
i wish i knew a piss baby in high school
i always knew i’m better off alone
mouth-hand-mouth
insecurities expressed in a joyful ballad
of gecs
i grind on my best friend in another venue
back then platonically i’m not sure
she spills her mixed drink all over my glitter
i kiss her i get in trouble for wanting too much
i get in trouble for stealing someone from someone i don’t know
and all i did was dance to gec
it’s difficult not imagining god watching me
and that’s judgement before letting go
before acquiescing to the ecstasy of gecs
i am no longer afraid of anything
i cannot tell you what it means gec
like how many friends/lovers can you fit in a bathroom stall
as a beautiful angel voice plays overhead
and the bathroom is flooded in purple light
with graffiti in sharpie and batting eyelashes
an angsty scent floods the vents
makes you want to text him at least say hey
and hey turns to i never stopped loving you
she’s not on your level
she has a hemingway tattoo and she’s never read hemingway
you were sinking in a pool in texas for whom
the bell tolls, the stinking american south your favorite
and a thousand collapsed bridges and the sensual
love of ‘women’ and i know and how can only
imagine
customers at the restaurant where you work will go all
‘rave babe’ and ‘candy’ at you and you go huh, yeah
i guess that’s a little part of me, congratulations
i want to ask them, do you know the gec?
i like the small sounds the gec
and the repetition of gecgecgecgec gec-c-c-c-c-c
how it all breaks down like it’s decaying
a reminder, you don’t have to fear the world
death will be just a warm embrace
i dance on a velvet couch
cushions swallow me like quicksand
until it’s 7:45 in the morning
and we’re jerking/flailing to a gec-like god
everyone steers their pupils in the wrong direction
huge and fishlike, mesmerized after so many gecs
i want a reason to show you my pretty face
i wait for notifications
i don’t double text unless i have to, really you should see me
in my element, i am so wonderful
in my element, i am indistinguishable from
the strobe lights intermingled with one hundred gecs
raining down on me
i never say what i need & that’s cuz
i don’t need you now that i have gec
megan finkel (she/her) is a queer writer living in new york city. she is either published or forthcoming in CP Quarterly, Neuro Logical, Anti-Heroin Chic, and Crow & Cross Keys. she would love it if you found her on Twitter @megfinkel.
This is so beautiful