I Texted You


There are so many ways to say things.
So I texted you during lunch,
To let you know that I was a very small person, maybe an elf,
With a wish, maybe a sentence to share,
Maybe a cloud floating through my wisp of a brain,
It’s nothing.

I threw some leftover bread to the sparrows and the pigeons,
Between texting fly-away sentences,
Wondering if I can slip this in cleverly,
Like a pill in a glob of vaseline to a kitten;
“I have a crush on you.”

I need to stay now,
And all I want is distance,
All I want are a million ways of leaving,
You think two states give me enough room, and you’re wrong.
Please go to another universe,
One where your lips don’t make my cunt hard and my body hot,
One where your words fade into dismal nothingness,
So I’m not tempted to talk to you.
I look down onto my table,
There are charms scattered, magic to give me what I need,
A handful of talismans are not enough to keep me here,
In this memory that ends in little words.

About Avery Cassell

Avery Cassell is a queer butch San Francisco writer, poet, cartoonist, and artist who grew up in Iran.
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