i’m not here
Once on a grievously depressing Saturday night Baby Marie-Antoinette’s mommy read her Amy Saul-Zerby’s tiny collection of poems the closest i will ever come to time travel, and now on a gluttonously depressing Wednesday night Baby Marie-Antoinette’s mommy read her another tiny collection of Amy’s poems i’m not here.
Prior to the poem Amy tells the reader (Baby Marie-Antoinette, of course) that the “you” of the poems is “fictitious.” According to Baby Marie-Antoinette’s French princess dictionary “fictitious” means not real or true, imaginary, fabricated. Making things up is much more grand than the truth. For example, it’s better to say that you own 57 tiaras than 3 because 57 is extreme, and extremeness is enchanting.
Amy wants this “you” to kiss her “after having thrown up.” She wants vomit on his breath. Obviously, this “you” is quite handsome. Otherwise, why would Amy tolerate such grossness? Indeed, this “you” must look something like Zach Morris.
Amy says she drinks six cans of diet soda a day. She also says, “i am starting to kind of hate being human but / what better options are / there really.” First off, soda is sweet and bubbly, so it’s acceptable to consume it in large proportions. Second off, any option is better than the human one. Human beings are average, jaded, and jealous, which is why they want to behead divine and pretty creatures like Baby Marie-Antoinette.
Near the end, Amy informs the “you”: “you are a cold sore to me.” So, apparently, this “you” isn’t Zach Morris. Zach isn’t a cold sore: he’s a striking blond boy. But Allen Ginsberg would unarguably qualify as a cold sore, since Allen Ginsberg is disgusting.