broken bikes

of blurs

my life is a jagged mess,

a collection of scattered thoughts,

fading memories,

unanswered questions,

blurring together

into something that even i

cannot properly explain

i see a thousand faces,

but i cannot pair a single one

with the thousand tongues

that i feel on the inside of my mouth,

and i cannot pair a single one 

with the thousand fingerprints

that blend into my skin

i cannot assign a single name

to a single person,

among the sea of identities

that swim in the peripheral vision

that has become my past;

they are all drowning in the greedy current

of diminishing nostalgia

sweaty palms

ragged breathing

shallow touches

panting whispers

awkward movements

guilty sighs

careless actions

i feel them all

pressing into me,

from somewhere,

anywhere

and yet,

from nowhere,

nowhere at all

i remember the first time

i told my mother

that i was attracted to a girl,

a girl who had long hair

and breasts

and curled lashes

and plump lips

and my mother just stared at me,

dumbfounded,

then she began to laugh

and she told me,

with an air of authority,

that i had to be

joking

but i frowned,

feeling the weight of her disbelief

suffocating me

because even my own mother

could not stand the fact

that her daughter

was infatuated with another woman