They kept describing you, in every way they could:
the girl with the locks, crooked teeth, big ass mouth,
I kept acting oblivious – not me rather, my brain,
it kept acting as if it didn’t know,
But it knew; it knew
that I didn’t want to know;
and it felt; it felt
that it would feel less real if we didn’t share in the knowledge, but what we shared transcended knowledge,
you and I, simile among multis, we shared sameness.
Yet my brain still tried to shield me from the pain,
focusing on every other thing but you.
The girl with the big mouth, you say?
Do you mean big ass, or big eyes? Or big ass eyes?
Or big ass ass?
But then he had to bring up the shoulder!
Fucking promulgator of bad news!
He just had to bring up the shoulder.
The girl who carried her shoulder, he said,
like a Victorian debutante,
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