I’m sorry
The more I’m with you
The more I realize
How beautiful she is

The more I’m with you
The more I appreciate her delicate hands

The more I hear your shallow words
The more I realize how heavy hers are.
That every sentence that slips by her lips
Is so carefully crafted
But with barely any effort

That just shows
How strong her mind is
And how simple yours is.

You’re too big
How am I supposed to see you
Eye to eye?
But I can look her in the eyes
And they are filled with so much happiness
Genuine happiness
When she sees my face.

is there hope
for a future
that was only dreamed of

I tear the skin off of my lips
And then I can taste the salty blood.
My mother says to me,
"Annie! Stop!"
But I ignore her.
And I chew away.
She asks me,
"Annie!! Why do you do that!?
It freaks me out!!"

Maybe I think that my lips will disintegrate.
That maybe I will just
End up eating them away.

No.
That's too strange.

Maybe I think that they need to be smoother,
Just in case,
And that any jagged bits of skin poking up needs to be ripped off
Like a bandaid.

No.
I'm too shy to kiss anyone.

Maybe I just love the sting
Of exposed skin.

I don't think so.
I'm pretty sure I've become desensitized to that
sting.

My answer, Mom, is that I don't know.

I couldn't tell you even if I tried.

The small hands of a child
Are innocent
Reaching for fake animals
Or candy bars.
But his mother
Says he shouldn’t have been here
His father
Never kisses him.
He has nothing to reach for.
A child can be born without innocence.
Small hands can do more
Than reach for fake animals
Or candy bars.
A tiny killer, he is.

so tell me why you're here
is it to relieve your mind with writing words?

or

is it to hear the words of others
hoping
to find relief?