Prayer room poem

Prayer room poem

My poems are the self-loathing I find difficult to perform socially
Maybe not so much difficult as problematic
I’m a good person, hopefully
can be an angel when you want me to be
Otters survive by holding hands in their sleep, I heard, so they don’t drift off away
Spent 15 minutes sitting below the taj mahal today
Imagine embodying your own self-loathing as rebuke of the metaphysical-discursive structures that produced it in the first place
The Taj Mahal still stands I suppose as testament to its own two feet
Tried to write poem but my phone wrote “phone”
A pin drops but there’s no gravity in the void