you don't have to like me
or the fact that my soul reeks of sagebrush and pine needles
after a rainstorm
you don't have to like me or
my coffee stained breath, my resin coated fingertips
you don't have to like me or my
too muchness or the dirt under my nails from crawling out of every hole
you dug me into
you don't have to like that when they call me "psychic"
they mean i'm like a telephone line for the changing of seasons
that my fingers were made for plunging into cold water,
that feels less like gossamer and more like the concrete
that are used to erect crypts and mausoleums
that the cards know the shape of my hands and i know that drawing "death" means that autumn is giving way to winter and that life has a funny way of
cutting ties past their expiration date
you don't have to like me or the books I started reading about continuity after a life
lived for someone else
you don't have to like me or my sensitivity, my inability to stay
callous and cold
or the fact that
some people care enough
to not blame me for what they say
you don't have to like me but I've pulled promises out of my throat and left wildfire in
their wake
the burns aren't visible but I don't like that you gave me the matches
and I never wanted to like you,
anyway
you don't have to like me but I don't have to
like you, either
