last summer, i died. well, very nearly.

last summer, i lived off of mugs full of cold milk tea, a concoction i frequently made to keep my weary mind company.

Google says there are more than 150 billion pennies in circulation

is that more or less than how many pearls lie in the ocean?

who knows how many pearls there are?

I feel the squeeze of self when I am forced to choose sides

to choose or to choose

you point out the arbitrary things in nature

enchanted by the halcyon bird, the brittle leaf

(disappointed when it doesn’t crunch under your sketchers,

not nearly as much as you anticipated)

in the middle of my name

as if i constantly have something to solve

Find x.

but i can’t tell if my hatred

is of you, the letter, or of you, the failure

Find x.

x: the “something” about myself

i am still trying to find