There is a mouse who comes out from under the fridge at exactly midnight. I go to sleep early but these days I’ve been burning the midnight oil trying to write new poems, getting discouraged and becoming convinced I have no talent, and then watching Game of Thrones. The mouse seems deeply disappointed that I am awake, then scurries away. Mouse, I don’t know what you want from me—that’s why your opinion matters so much! You’re a better being than me, I’m sure of it, I want to say. My therapist told me, Your problem may be that you give too many fucks, and observed that I am able to see nuance and challenge binary / dichotomous thinking concerning race, but not when I am judging myself. Am I a good dad or a bad dad? Am I beautiful or not? Am I good overall or bad overall? Am I useful or not? A bad poet or a good poet? Do I deserve to be alive or not? And so on. I keep having these dreams where I’m left behind, and when I wake up I feel like I deserve to be alone. Mouse, when you creep out from under the place I must assume you’ve always known, what do you see? Someone who is doing his best, and if you are patient, you get what he gets? Or someone who simply inhabits a space you’d rather have all to yourself? I am trying to see things your way. There are all these little spaces that make us into who we are, and sometimes I can’t breathe when I feel stuck. I think of stars and ocean waves, mouse: these things that are bigger than me and can’t be bothered to care.

For Brandon Lacy Campos

I.

I had this dream that the world was ending in a week. Instead of flipping out, there were giant free festivals all over the world where people could spend time with friends and family; even some peeps who had passed on came back from the dead to party. There were free workshops, concerts, and activities for people so they could learn and participate in things they never got a chance to do. I took a workshop on miniatures painting and elaborate diorama creation. I went with some friends to an open mic and heckled this poet. I realized he was a stand-in for everyone who ever dissed me and thought I was too dumb to realize it. FUCK Y’ALL, FUCK Y’ALL, I kept shouting at him. I didn’t care if I deserved to be so mean; it just felt good not having to pretend anymore. There was an activity where you had to escape from a room that was set up like a puzzle—I had to roll into a ball like Samus to get out.

When I did, Brandon was outside the room on a cobblestone street, a drink in his hand, chatting with J. and a bunch of other friends. He winked at me and said, Don’t worry, I’ve been having too much fun in the afterlife to waste my time judging you from afar. Let’s party! And I’m glad I finally get to meet Song.