Bad taste
I must have bad taste Because each time, under new initials, I always manage to corner myself Digging new holes, slamming new doors
I used to ask, but eventually I realized The answer was overdetermined and I stopped being performative because I already knew That I might as well save the effort
(The only common factor was me)
I'm under no delusions, Since no one is merely unlucky That many times in a row I only judge myself
Either they were all lying to themselves, Or I'm lying to myself About what I really want, And the odds are not in my favor This whole time, I think what I really wanted Was for a new person to tell me no, A promise the whole time there was never a chance To be whole, never a chance to be known.















