i am not good
with words i should not be speaking
the wind is better at whispering
sweet nothings than my hands are
at comforting and i'm afraid
it is all my fault
i am not good
at masking things without tape
and a pair of pants
clear cardboard cutouts of home
i dream of you every night and i'm afraid
i wont stop
i am not good at
stopping myself from talking before
thinking about why i am in the first place
taking my hands and placing them
on the corners of my face
is just routine
i am nothing but good at
swimming in oceans of my own tears
and creating more storms than
sunshine inside of me
i am nothing but good at
sitting shaking in the dark
alone without wind to whisper
back to me
"you are worthless"
i am nothing but good
at being nothing but horrible