A Pulse
Sometimes I google
My worst fears and sometimes I
Search for porn of my
Traumas and sometimes I think
All of my fetishes are based on
Triggering something. Either a
Pulse in my pants or a
Pulse in my forehead I am
Seemingly addicted to
Driving myself mad. I know
Even if I had a bigger dick I would be
Unsatisfied, I know
If I’d been born a man I would wonder
What being a woman was like.
I know I am enough and I know
I am yearning for something
I can’t get enough of. The same way
Everyone is, the same way
Hoarding money is understandable
Hoarding love, hoarding pain, hoarding poems
Is understandable.
Alas I cannot understand why I would continue to
Google some of the things I do–
It must be out of a desire for certainty, a
Constant lust for truth. A pulse
In my veins to tell me I’m alive, a
Pulse in my heart to make me want
To thrive, and a more menacing pulse
In my left eye, where the pressure
Bludgeons me from the inside.