corrections
corrections
corrections
that’s all my brain does
it leads me forward to the point of
red-pen markings on
drafts long done

i wish i could just let it all be

not see the typos in friends’ texts
or my own poetry
or anything really

when i understand the meaning
and the world is itself is a liminal space
we’re all just visiting
just trying to make it through the day
why does my mind turn into the ultimate grammar-nazi
when we all know [or knew] that the nazis
are always
the bad guys

i’d rather be a grammar anarchist
a grammar socialist
at least grammar neutralist

but no, my brain functions in rules
[though i suspect my spirit is made of chaos]
and i just want to scream at myself
“WHYYY???”

[but i think we’re probably at least mildly aware of the why—

it’s the
trauma]