Tonight was so strange I thought the moon must be
in Aquarius but no. It's still in Capricorn.
This is not a poem.
This is not a love letter.
This is not magic realism.
This is Texan unicorn diary entry.
I ate Tex Mex with my Taurus sun Libra moon father
and double Scorpio Taurus rising son.
My father talked about the Alamo and the haunted hotel
and Mexico and his upcoming wedding.
He drank two large frozen margaritas. Salt on the rim.
My son drank Sprite.
He talked about shanks and prison.
He makes shanks at school when the teacher
isn't paying attention.
He's preparing for his future possible incarceration.
He will cut the bars and escape.
He also told me that when he dies
before he goes to Heaven
he wants to jump into a volcano
because it won't hurt.
The other day we watched "Joe Vs. The Volcano,"
my favorite Tom Hanks movie.
"I thought you were a woman of substance," a Gemini cook
told me when I mentioned the fact.
Damn it, I AM a woman of substance.
Fuck Meg Ryan.
I'm talking about TOM HANKS
having the balls to JUMP INTO A VOLCANO.
I have loved five or six or seven or eight motherfuckers
in my short lifetime.
None of them would at any point
jump into a volcano.
Pussies.
I'm still stuck on Amy Schumer in "Trainwreck"
even though the flaws are obvious.
She figured out at the end that she loved the boring guy.
I thought that was brave of her.
I'm still a cheerleader.
Look. Mira.
(Mira the Spanish verb not Mira the ugly name.)
I was never a cheerleader will never be a cheerleader.
I am not bubbly blonde accessible aesthetic.
I did okay once on the comedy club open mic stage
but I read my routine from my Star Wars journal
and that was pretty pussy of me.
But. You.
Dear you.
Capricorn sun Taurus moon Libra rising you.
I tried really fucking hard to shine for you.
I joined Planet Fitness, for fuck's sake.
If that ain't love, love does not exist.
But you know this.
You've dismissed this.
You can do so much better!
And you.
Scorpio sun Taurus moon Leo rising you.
I only fucked one other guy when we were
taking a break last December.
It was only one time and I was so drunk
all I remember is me babbling and crying
at the end and him taking me home and me
saying,"Thanks for the memories."
I hope you're flossing and selling.
I'm still trying. Not for you.
For the fat lady.
You know, Seymour's fat lady.
Seymour Glass?
Oh fuck.
Never fucking mind.
Thanks for all the canvas.
And you oh you oh soul mate you.
You're the one who said "soul mate," darlin'...
I'm simply bein' a smart ass parrot.
I chronicle.
I smirk.
Mercury in Pisces in the seventh opposes
and squares and squares again.
I'm such a mess in my Mexican dress.
But you oh you.
Am I arrogant?
Bueno.
I've earned every damn syllable.
Cancer sun. Scorpio moon. Unknown ascendant.
We only danced twice.
But baby.
We danced.
Send me a smoke signal from Panama.
The nursery window is always open.
Mars and Venus Siamese twinned in Gemini.
I'm hardly Wendy.
I'm still the mermaid.
What the hell is a mermaid doing in a nursery?
Your guess
is as good
as mine.
in Aquarius but no. It's still in Capricorn.
This is not a poem.
This is not a love letter.
This is not magic realism.
This is Texan unicorn diary entry.
I ate Tex Mex with my Taurus sun Libra moon father
and double Scorpio Taurus rising son.
My father talked about the Alamo and the haunted hotel
and Mexico and his upcoming wedding.
He drank two large frozen margaritas. Salt on the rim.
My son drank Sprite.
He talked about shanks and prison.
He makes shanks at school when the teacher
isn't paying attention.
He's preparing for his future possible incarceration.
He will cut the bars and escape.
He also told me that when he dies
before he goes to Heaven
he wants to jump into a volcano
because it won't hurt.
The other day we watched "Joe Vs. The Volcano,"
my favorite Tom Hanks movie.
"I thought you were a woman of substance," a Gemini cook
told me when I mentioned the fact.
Damn it, I AM a woman of substance.
Fuck Meg Ryan.
I'm talking about TOM HANKS
having the balls to JUMP INTO A VOLCANO.
I have loved five or six or seven or eight motherfuckers
in my short lifetime.
None of them would at any point
jump into a volcano.
Pussies.
I'm still stuck on Amy Schumer in "Trainwreck"
even though the flaws are obvious.
She figured out at the end that she loved the boring guy.
I thought that was brave of her.
I'm still a cheerleader.
Look. Mira.
(Mira the Spanish verb not Mira the ugly name.)
I was never a cheerleader will never be a cheerleader.
I am not bubbly blonde accessible aesthetic.
I did okay once on the comedy club open mic stage
but I read my routine from my Star Wars journal
and that was pretty pussy of me.
But. You.
Dear you.
Capricorn sun Taurus moon Libra rising you.
I tried really fucking hard to shine for you.
I joined Planet Fitness, for fuck's sake.
If that ain't love, love does not exist.
But you know this.
You've dismissed this.
You can do so much better!
And you.
Scorpio sun Taurus moon Leo rising you.
I only fucked one other guy when we were
taking a break last December.
It was only one time and I was so drunk
all I remember is me babbling and crying
at the end and him taking me home and me
saying,"Thanks for the memories."
I hope you're flossing and selling.
I'm still trying. Not for you.
For the fat lady.
You know, Seymour's fat lady.
Seymour Glass?
Oh fuck.
Never fucking mind.
Thanks for all the canvas.
And you oh you oh soul mate you.
You're the one who said "soul mate," darlin'...
I'm simply bein' a smart ass parrot.
I chronicle.
I smirk.
Mercury in Pisces in the seventh opposes
and squares and squares again.
I'm such a mess in my Mexican dress.
But you oh you.
Am I arrogant?
Bueno.
I've earned every damn syllable.
Cancer sun. Scorpio moon. Unknown ascendant.
We only danced twice.
But baby.
We danced.
Send me a smoke signal from Panama.
The nursery window is always open.
Mars and Venus Siamese twinned in Gemini.
I'm hardly Wendy.
I'm still the mermaid.
What the hell is a mermaid doing in a nursery?
Your guess
is as good
as mine.
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