[a Golden Shovel poem after a line from Kitchen Sink by twenty one pilots]
I am so full of a
bitter idea— that I could dress my kitchen
with all my friends, one leaning on the sink,
all laughing, while I’m left to
stare up at the dead ceiling with dead thoughts, you
three feet away, but three feet is
nothing like what three feet should be, not
even close because like everyone else, you’re a
live-wire, and I’m just a fixture in my own kitchen,
and I sink
the tile, and all above me,
I see the wet lips and laughter and chaos and I think Okay,
who here is really my friend?
Aleah Dye (she/her) primarily writes poetry, tending towards topics of morbidity, love, social justice, and philosophy. She is dreadfully afraid of imperfection and spiders, in no particular order. She has a one-eyed cat named Ivy and a one-track-minded (food!) cat named Rosebud. Aleah hopes to make hearts grow three sizes with her words. She is a 2020 Sundress Publications Best of the Net nominee. Read her latest work via POCKETFIRE, The Daily Drunk, and Lucky Pierre Zine. Follow her @bearsbeetspoet on Twitter.