Nine Mile Magazine Spring 2018

cruelty builds character this might be the saddest maxim i could manage what’s the exact right amount of deer in the headlights? of interlocutor pressure on the knot but not the muscle? mother never taught me what the doctors wanted to disclose: the family history of my hip bones the late-onset schizophrenic hormones the scotch-drinking comes with irish silence included i’m not sure if i’ve ever met anyone i would call “well adjusted,” but if such a thing exists it comes with fewer addictions and flying fists—the hardship is what holds us hostage in or out of the hospital hopscotching in circles forever—behind the times perhaps, but ahead of the apocalypse—too cagey to get close to anyone but a chainsaw and a crystal ball. all i’m saying is i know it’s problematic but i find damage attractive, so yes it sucks to suffer but would the soft fur of suburbia be preferable? i’m not actually as sure as you would figure even after the hairpin whiplash of college parties and their guarded powders, miracle of miracles my mouth can still open all the way like a mint-condition human. the nurses tell me i was lucky and i place your fingers just below my cheekbones and let you catch the swing unhinge in one direction, and the sex is better after that—no contest. i’ve shown off my weak spot rolled over in the sandbox. i am brimming with Page 102 - Nine Mile Magazine