When I tell you I love you
you answer "me too"
and perhaps I misconstrue,
that you love yourself
like the affirmations
advise,
the ones we see on Instagram,
that Rupi Kaur is full of them,
churning them out like some poet
in a fast-food window,
where you pick up a side of
"you're better off without him"
plus some platitude on the rain
to wash it down;
or maybe "me too" is a memory,
in the (not so) recent past:
an abusive ex, a diddling dad,
the gymnastics coach who always
held you snug, checked out your
ass instead of your landing ,
after vaulting and parallel bars;
but then I've always read too
much into your words,
thinking there's some story
below the surface,
a recollection
that encircles like a shark,
that you're afloat
in a punctured dinghy
awaiting rescue,
by an aqua knight who rides
the seven seas, one who sees
a kraken where there's not,
thinks "right back at you,"
"ditto kiddo"
is the beast from a thousand
fathoms he's come hastily
to slay..
Andreas Gripp
September 2, 2023
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