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the day the céline dion tickets dropped

the day the céline dion tickets dropped / i told my mom i wouldn’t beg her into loving me again stuffed myself with fifty dollars worth of southern cuisine in the blacksonian cafe / and prayed for good seats on free wifi / my mom compared being gay and the quran / to forgetting the pages of a good novel / you don’t know what page you saw it on / but it’s in there, somewhere / i step into a loud music exhibit & dream myself in a crushed velvet cape / a great, aluminum mothership hovers above my head / george clinton calling me home / it’s only march and i’ve already tragically humiliated my mother / by being something other than straight and perfect / my flaws worn on me like thrifted leather / ask myself / how my mother can love the sparkled, backwards pantsuit / but not the glitter itself / would céline still be céline / if not for the queens / mouthing her lyrics over runny eggs and cocktails / could my mother stomach the girls / with their hands to the stage / toward some canadian god / my friend asks me if after all of this, i am still fasting for ramadan / as if the saudi moon is not the most constant body in my life now / as if believing in something other than me / breaking through the dark / today, everyday / is not my only way out

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