Tend to discredit myself as hypocrite,
dual-minded middle-of-the-fight,
keeps the peace, a loud pajama

knife of a woman, who, when has to spit,
spits, when no one is around,
stays behind to smoke a cigarette.

Every attempt to side, foiled by flits
of this is a little wrong, a little right.
I push twin mattresses together.

When I sleep, the seam is my night,
quiet, I grow freeform spine, emerge
another hunchback from all this trauma.

I carry myself in a whopping skirt,
goatkid-white, I ring them bells!
Drama plays deserve their drama.