i

This is personal.
I met you to feel misunderstood,
But I am hung up on the small trashy parts.
Time is left over, no longer any good.

Time fits your narrative but not mine.
I am straining to get out.
My newest skin wears tight red pants,

Singing through bitter polyester.
The record is made out of cotton
And doesn’t sell.
Goodness is an illusion.

I have quiet sins that take me
Through whatever I shouldn’t
Have become.
I will never own myself.

Mary Kasimor is both a poet and a visual artist. She has never considered herself a visual person and only began creating visual art in 2013. However, she has been writing poetry for many years, and her work has appeared in many literary journals. She also has several collections of poetry published. Her most recent collections are The Landfill Dancers (BlazeVox Books, 2014) and Saint Pink (Moria Books, 2015).

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