cute

when the world outside
is burning. and
the ability to even imagine a future
is yoinked. and
the kaleidoscope of nostalgia
is borked, with dysphoria
i growl for respite.

these magic potions
that i have been taking, seem
to turn everything cute!

cuteness isn’t a characteristic,
or an adjective
it is an invitation to imagine
and embody whimsy.

it is everywhere
me,
you,
that cat’s scowl.
even trucks,
trains, and airplanes.

i give out headpats
when my monstera produces
a new leaf
and shows it to me proudly.

i deserve headpats too
as i unfurl
and take up more screen space
by repeatingggggg lettersss.

to express non-words
awwwww
and curious non-thoughts
nyoooooooom
and smiles eeeeeeeee
with apparent fluency.

turning reactions into provocations
emojis are now an excuse,
to swivel my curious ears
toward the meowtiful.

the potion isn’t magic after all
it took several doses to notice
what’s on the nutrition label:

forgiveness,
for decades of scary,
surreal silence.

strength,
an armour of softness against
a hard future
that I can’t yet imagine.

gratitude,
for whatever time I have left
to give others my honesty
and receive theirs.

permission,
to give my imagination
a stretchy stretch.

cuteness isn’t mere aesthetic
it is a radical revolt against
the policing of my agency.

its embrace won’t liberate from
the pain of a disappearing future
but at least
i’ll live to see it.