I want to be good.
I thought I made myself sweet so
when my disgraceful drawl says
I don’t buy ground beef,
it reminds me too much of human brains
it’s a thesis and tender, so
when my fingers close around your cute throat you think it’s routine.

We coexist, and I want to be good juxtaposed
I remember you stood up to take off your pants
and fell off the bed, I remember
I don’t like you anymore. Remember:
it’s bored of, not bored with.

I want this to work. You can tie me up,
or I can tie you up, I heard loss of power
is power, someone said that.
Someone else said that only power is real power.
Whatever works, I guess I just want to be good with you
but honestly I've never made sense of my body
in conjunction with yours.
I don’t know where to put my trash.

If I had five hundred dollars I’d buy a skateboard
with a Basquiat print on it and ride it so the colors came off.
In theory I don’t want a gun to my head but empathetically
peace is a scam. The guy waiting in line
for pizza tells me I’m inherently gentle because:
women have umbilical chords, they’re literally
attached to their young.

You have been good from the start but I
am a trash baby. My daddy picked me up from the dump.
When you said self-love I was sure you meant jerk off.
You say learn to love yourself and I wonder
 if you will practice what you preach and learn to love me too.

You’re going to make me come I say it
to an empty room and I think,
I am good at this at least.

Aja Moore is a writer currently working to complete her undergraduate degree. This is her first published poem.