people are always telling me you're toxic

you are a little puppeteer
everything in the room
connected to your hands
by invisible lines

bring the beer in your
hand to your lips,
and
someone jerks their head
drawn to you like curtains

shift your weight
and the weight of the world
rests with you
the gravity of being the center
of the universe heavily sits
on your right hip

your eyelids must be so heavy
some mornings
how do you lift them?
how do you get out of bed with
so many strings attached?

above your bedroom door
all those lines knit themselves
into a Charlotte-worthy spiderweb

it says
SOME PIG