midnight poesy

My friend found an excavator, Yellow, shiny, three days later He'd named it, loved it, made a plan, Despite not being a wealthy man. He checked the excavator's price, Then frowned into a pizza slice. He counted fingers, counted toes, Then stared at me and struck a pose. "People have two kidneys, right? One for morning, one for night?" The kidneys, hearing such disgrace, Slowly tried to leave the place. One packed bags. One called a cab. Both agreed, "This bloke's gone mad." The excavator didn't care. It simply sat there, bright and rare. So if you see my friend this week, Don't let him browse Marketplace. He's one bad spreadsheet from believing Body parts are seasonal savings.                                                                     -Deia and sm weirdo who chipped in this idea

 To every friend I have met beneath different skies, to the ones who arrived briefly and still left fingerprints on who I was becoming, this is for you. But especially for the ones who knew me before I had an identity of my own. To those I have known for more than a decade, we grew inside the same corridors, our laughter ricocheting off classroom walls, our names written into checklists and carved quietly into one another’s memories. We saw each other unguarded, not only in the ordinary, deeply embarrassing ways of growing up side by side, but in the moments when life stripped us of every practiced version of ourselves. We knew the bodies that carried no shame, the faces swollen from crying, the secrets whispered between bathroom stalls, the disasters, or “matters,” as we called them, that we swore were the end of the world and later laughed about until our stomachs hurt. We lived through things that should have scattered us. Instead, we made inside jokes from the silliest, strange...