View changes depending on the angle.
You watch me through the mirror,
hard, fall in love with my dangled
image. My hair falls droopy, mangled,
yet you still accept it, smooth it out, clearer
view that changes depending on the angle.
I walk out in jeans and T-shirt, entangled
in society’s side-eyed disapproval, not nearer
to your hard fall, your love with my dangled
sloppiness. I kiss you sloppy and tangle
my arms with yours, you are dearer
without your view changing depending on the angle.
I angle myself to run away from strangled
conventions of what I should I do, adherers
trying to break hard, the fallen love with my dangled
personhood. Expect me quiet, and I’ll jangle
surprise in your face, thunder intensity, turn cheerer
trying to break hard to fall in love with myself, even when dangled.