I am a guest.
this is not the guest room.
I came home to you an ocean away.
I crawled into your bed
and felt miniscule.
a woman unfolds
to cover every surface here,
a woman I barely know.
there are no faces
in the paintings
on the walls.
this was my room once.
the walls are still
the same colour—
upset stomach pink.
I didn't ask if I could be this small
or be wrapped up
or be here, at this exact latitude,
in this longing for
a woman I barely know.
I could have called.
I could have asked.
top ten strangest job titles we found on real listings:
mother repairer.
I have been making lists
these past few days,
lists of things
that could replace a name.
director. docent. archivist. artist
I have been feeling
like a guest
in the world
and in my body.
I have been close to the surface lately,
blue creeks rushing through soft summer
still, still.
I am trying hard
not to let myself dry out
so I don't get my blood
on your sheets.
I am a guest.
a fact about brain surgery:
the safest place to house
a removed piece of your skull
is sewn into your abdomen.
each of the faceless people in the paintings
are paired
and sharing an umbrella
except for one.
they are facing away.
they are all waiting,
still and waiting,
still waiting.
your plane touches our shared ground
the day I leave the city.
we will pass
on the highway.
I am sitting alone
in a room full of cut cords
and trying not to bleed.
I am a guest.
this is not the guest room.
g. morgan (any pronouns) is a multimedia artist, writer, & performer currently working primarily in written & audio fiction, poetry, comics, and story-based video games. he is passionate about horror, monstrosity & humanity, and queerness. their work is often soaked in love, grief, change & fluidity, (dis)comfort, and the weird. morgan hopes to offer catharsis and a bit of magic to the world with his work, but failing that, a little laugh or scratch of the head will do. find more at: https://linktr.ee/heebleeart