In The Tradition Of What Appears To Be Everyone
by Joseph Goosey 

This is a birthday poem. 
I’ve just turned 30. 
I’m 4 days into being 30
and I feel haggard
not because I’m 30, no, 
I was haggard at 29
and expect to be at 31. 
Numbers aside, my skin
is she changing? 
My shoulders smell 
like Krystal’s smell. 
Krystal is from the club
I don’t remember 
going to last night. 
I found her number 
inside of my wallet. 
I can’t get involved 
with Krystal from the club
because I’m trying
to get involved 
with Crystal from my job
who is working 
on speaking fluent Arabic. 
Days, sometimes, 
become biblical lashings. 
String me up 
for the entire town to see. 
I intend to go out 
screaming silent
inside of the head. 
Today I am 30. 
Tomorrow I am 30
plus one day. 
Age goes on like this 
for too long.
Age is not a factor
as to whether I’m aroused
but not nooses, 
nooses help. 
A noose restricts blood flow. 
Verbiage is difficult. 
Verbiage and science
are difficult. I stare at the floor  
and hope elsewhere. 

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About barkingsycamores 183 Articles
Barking Sycamores is a literary journal entirely edited and operated by queer neurodivergent people of color. We publish poetry, artwork, short fiction (beginning with Issue 3), creative nonfiction (beginning with Issue 8), and hybrid genre work (beginning with Issue 9) by emerging and established neurodivergent writers as well as essays on neurodiversity and literature and book reviews (beginning with Issue 10).

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