Let me bury myself

in life. Let me do every

uncomfortable thing

over and over and over

again. This is me loving myself.

This is me jumping into

the deep end of a pool

in the middle of February,

instead of easing myself in

using the stairs.

This is me staying

underwater until my breath runs

out and then longer. The bubbles

sprinting upwards

towards the light.

I’ll live

my way into living.

I hate the heat,

so I choose to live

in the hottest place possible.

My sweat never dries.

I hate the feel of jeans,

so my closet is filled with them,

organized in a row, textures

rippling like the open gape

of a pool in February.

And I’m running

towards it.

There is no texture

I hate more than grapefruit,

so I eat everything

with grapefruit spoons, 

so I never escape it.

Each morning starting with a half-

sliver. A puckering.

Each bite spooned out

like shoveling dirt

onto a grave.

Over and over and over

again. I am most alive

when I most desperately

want to run away

from the heave

of texture heavy

on the horizon.

But this is me loving myself.

So I run towards it.