Mid-October’s lock screen reads
“Don’t fuck with my energy,”
And I don’t know how to diagnose
Narcissism. Maybe memorizing
Gone Girl’s “Cool Girl” finally went
To my head. Maybe my head’s
Already lost. Someone give me an
In-flight magazine before the crash.
I secretly like things without taste.
I am only ever creative in the art
Of self-defense. Badassness comes
When you look like a girl you would
Step away from. Don’t imagine what
It would be like to love you. Googling
Symptoms of “masking” but refusing
To believe bullet-pointed lists. I can’t
Keep a straight face when I lie. It’s all
“I have nothing to hide!” except for
A face behind a face. Return again to
Narcissism. If only I could hold faith
In self-importance. I strongly believe
In smallness. Normality has been grossly
rehearsed, picked out the night before.
I am nothing but the clothes I wear. These
iPhone alternations feel like when I dye
My hair, or rotate the soul—
unexpected, but with control.