t_e_l_l_m_e's profile picture. selections from a poetry collection by kat giordano (@giordkat). you can purchase the book at da linky. posts every hour unless i'm testing something.

TELL ME YOU'VE EARNED IT

@t_e_l_l_m_e

selections from a poetry collection by kat giordano (@giordkat). you can purchase the book at da linky. posts every hour unless i'm testing something.

Pinned

a shock collar containing a giant mechanical hand that stamps YOU CANNOT WORRY YOURSELF INTO BEING LOVED backwards on my forehead in red ink and holds a mirror up to my face and makes me read it and then the red ink gives me a full-body rash.


I'm going to have to ask you to cut that shit out.


when we left, the geese were being harassed by some teenagers trying to impress each other,


I read it over and over and try to remind myself it's only a poem,


13. you're doing a good job, and things will be okay soon.


your soft lips on hers a wall I spring into every night and wonder why I'm bruised.


and do you remember how sometimes you'd look over and ask if I was real


I am the dog and the second you leave, I'll feel my jaw ache for your curtains.


I think I could have stayed and let this molten want gestate between our bodies into something solid.


16. please don't hurt yourself tonight.


and you might think, in light of that, how good are apples, anyway?


but the pigeons don't have mythos.


things were still good back then.


I used to listen to your podcast interviews just to hear your voice.


you were right, but it didn't end there, and we were never just friends.


by the time we hit Altoona, I've collected fifteen photos of cows on the side of the highway.


mallgoers wandered into the road with their bags trying to avoid him.


I wanted you to frown at me and be like CUT THAT SHIT OUT.


lighthouse sheets that I know most days, you can't lift yourself out of.


I spent that year in a state I describe to myself and others as 'illness'-- barely eating, barely sleeping, drinking too much whenever possible and seeking life-affirming validation for my choices from old poets who were basically strangers.


I could write a sub-list of Of Montreal songs I used to listen to at work while secretly pining for you


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