You made a mix-tape about yourself and those
who've loved you, were that the proper word
plucked three minutes from the radio at a time
clear transmission burned to hissing static for the scarce few seconds
between the acts
You played that mix-tape about yourself
to anyone who'd hear it
until the magnets were worn through and the jewel case
You crushed the splinters of that mix-tape about those
who'd loved you, were that the proper word,
into your chest and kept them there like a secret
because nobody wants to hear again
about mistakes you did and didn't make
on a mix-tape about yourself.
Cut the mic.