TWO POEMS by NAT RAUM
ceci n’est pas le gentleman célibataire
where the hell was phaedra parks when i needed to hear a woman say to a man this is not the bachelor and i don't have to kiss your ass for a rose? remember what happened when i stood up for myself in elementary school? that went about as well as i thought it would with any partner, and so i never tried. in college i said i was done seeking validation from men and it took me a minute to make good on that. minutes snowballed to hours, made my nerves recoil with the weight of muscles never softened, not for a second. i’ve dated so many deadbeat musicians that a whole swath of genres now sound like gaslight anthems. (fuck ableton live and whatever the fuck nintendocore is.) i tamp fury like espresso, which is to say badly. those who mattered always minded. how beautiful it would have been to know there is an allowable assertiveness besides a man’s. but when i have nothing left to lose? god help you.
journal (take #2)
dear diary, if i could change one minor thing it would be to require all fruit flies to fuck in private because seriously, who wants to see one fruit fly all up on another in their fucking living room? repulsive! worse yet: who wants to confront the reality that a fruit fly has had sex in their house more recently than they have? and that watching insects get it on has made them realize they need a lot more touch than they think they did? that maybe as dear as one’s diary is, it’s no understudy for actual human warmth? that natalie portman was right in closer (2004): lying is the most fun a girl can have without taking her clothes off, but it’s better if you do? dear diary, i think i am the person we’re talking about here.
nat raum is the poet laureate of the void; their corporeal form lives in Baltimore. They’re the author of the abyss is staring back, random access memory, camera indomita, and many others. Find them reading, sleeping, smoking dank kush, or astral projecting in their local Target.