GOAT.

---

Let’s try the self-depreciation tactic.

I learned it from my mother, her attempts to avoid rejection,

(its opposite, too far to even fantasize on—

Acceptance, that is).

Maybe she learned it from hers in turn,

That cruel woman I never knew, whose

Blood pumps through my heart, whose

Fears hold fast to my gametes, an epigenetic virus, whose

Curses rage on, powerful, stubborn, desperate.

We try to other me, but I am too alike you

In my wonder of what could have been,

Imprisoned in self-sabotaging, nostalgic regret.

You’re sure to not believe me, in my

Cynicism and fractured naïveté, but this means

I am The Eternal Optimist, smothered by

Hope as the means of suicide.

So, bless me! Anoint me with oils! I am your

Noble scapegoat! Deferential yet, defensive.

Fearless, until I reach your altar of sacrifice—

Where I panic.

They are on your side, insatiable as they gobble

Up lies, beg the Gods (their attempt at prayer) to

Relieve them of their despair, to take this offering and

Their trespasses, without a glimmer of forgiveness.

Your methods of persuasion are powerful (eating lies helps

Repress the gag reflex, I hear). My nausea muffles

My worth, so I inch closer toward acceptance.

I deserve to be skinned. Burned. For what good am I

If I cannot relieve your pain?

Of which I am the sole, singular, whole, responsible cause.

——

How did I do? Was that self-effacing sufficient enough to

Alchemize your disdain and resentment into loyalty?

Or, love?

——

I’ll wait.

-Annie Corinne, 2024

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