There is no “you” in this poem

There is no “you” in this poem
I’m busy crossing off daytime
All night drinking 台湾啤酒

Thigh stuck to the laminate wood
Presented with my own hips
And a choice to roll over

And pull down my pants
For the mirror
Or drink milk till I puke

The kiddie pool equipped
With her hand on mine
The days peel off like polyester

Every tunnel leads to another
Field of ruffled shirts each
One too many charms

“Life Is Shit”

And all the things
This T-shirt says so 
My body won’t have to

Make a liar out of me
This 咖啡拿铁 crosses a line
I’m back walking night

This is my last pair of suede shoes
And the pedestrians are slow as fuck
And it’s raining again

And no, I’m not going hiking
When it comes to not liking everyone
For me, it’s fun

There is no “you” in this poem
So I’m constantly waking
Into the same dream

From the same dream
Still pregnant by some dumb 老外
Crying beside the hotplate

Right into my black sesame oatmeal
What will I tell my girlfriend?
Where’s the Taipei clinic?

And in the back of my mind
These retro orange kitchen tiles 4eva
I’ve got a set of priorities this summer

It’s all so 不好意思

Actually I’m just obsessed
With my own body
I’ll never sleep it off

A steady green tea drip
Staring at the screen like
Facebook messenger animating

My slack every time
I tap the paper airplane icon
I get wet

Alone I can feel the metal springs
In the mattress
Where my heart should be

There is no “you” in this poem
I’m wielding my white girl
To the vanishing point