Salve for Impossible Standards

This is a painting by Swedish Scorpio Superstar, Hilma af Klint, whose work I saw at the Guggenheim in 2019. When I saw this painting I felt like I was staring into my soul. I bought a postcard of it and sent it to my grandmother and it was lost in the mail. Anyways, look up Hilma.

Sometimes I am sad for no reason,
it feels greedy, obscene, like I spun a shot wheel
and wound up on whiskey straight.

When you ask why, I can’t answer.

Occasionally it’s something six hours
alone can fix, often I need back-up:
your skin on my skin, red wine, validation. Why 
call this anything other than what it is? A plea for both of us

to love the parts of me that don’t make
any goddamned sense—
me most of all. 

Can I do the work?
I try.

Can I be the one?
I try.

Can I light this candle?
Yes.

Can I find your hand in the dark?  

Yes. Suddenly I am made of flowers again,
daisies strung from starry nights, pink ink,
pink toes pawing towards my warmth. 

Sometimes living just feels like stalling
until something         violent / guttural / violet

happens. 

Like this work? Leave me a tip on Venmo: @chloe_christina.