Five days. You would think after years of tearing off pieces of myself and sharing the ugliness with the world, I would be used to being laid bare for everyone to see.

I am not. But, if we’re honest, doing it in poetry is basically doing it anonymously. I have zero expectations they will ever be read. It’s safe. Secure.

Cuckoo is not.

This is different. A fever dream. It does what it wants, not what you expect. You’re gonna have to trust me, no matter what, I know what is happening, even if you do not.

Have you ever been in love?