Birthday poem

Forty times long my love
Everything learns everything
A sloped line loves orgasming
Line that hat's way different
She loves his loves and he loves
She so I go the way bristly
And gray exhausted late and
Protruding I move for in a
Non-cab with my on top of mom
Who bought the ticket and
All the food she's leaving
And hope the performance I
Make at the place builds down
Across the room away closed
Or no one will save you
Either powerful camera's bore
Up aging nostrils into my brain
And practice eludes me you're in
The place doing the thing I'm in
No fit place to be this alone
And swagged out screaming
Dogs share this built-down
Space does no one really have
Time for me? "No one cares
About me," I think. My mom
Got her uterus removed last
Month. My first home. I
Felt tears when I talked about
Him. For knows reason. When
Nothing works something works.
We all sit with the fabric of
Our shirts touching. "I won't move
For you." I'm doing the things
I don't know how to do as a
Way to retrain the habitual
Old women who spin the loom 
Of my mind. No lunch
Breaks. You wish for a studio
Apartment and a job you love
For your birthday, those things
The status of which a wish
Becomes. All their own, and
Really it'll all either be ok
Or not ok, you know. The
Rides longness crashed into
The trio's ethnicity in strapped
Tides, waves of leather exhaus-
Tion. Another time is
Fucking fake like an
RSVP or museum merch or
White people or assistants.
Your life is everything you
Can see. You're doing fine.
You are loved. You are walking
With. You are toward. No-
Thing is wrong except
Those things you think
Wrongness of. You are around.
Everyone is still in love with you,
You altruistic heartbreaker.
You love I. I love you.