Don’t drown,
Mr. Fish,
he forgot,
how to hold,
his breath.
Glub glub,
he says.
His fins,
don’t work,
Mr. Fish,
can’t you,
swim?
The water is,
too deep,
in his bowl.
Don’t drown,
Mr. Fish.

There's a girl in the glass box,
poor little bird can't fly.
Her wings have been snipped,
bound in ribbon,
made of knives.
Girl in the glass box,
what are you doing in there?
I can see you screaming,
why can't I hear a sound?
Please, shattered doll,
don't you cry,
you're out of time.
Girl in the glass box,
who are you?
With your brown hair,
made of curls,
won't you please tell me?
Poor broken doll,
with her bruised,
bleeding porcelain skin.
Girl in the glass box,
will you let me in?

I am unable to be happy,
that is my conclusion,
a self-diagnosis.
I simply just,
cannot be satisfied,
it's just that,
honestly.
I sit there,
and stare,
dumbfounded,
I don't know,
I don't care.
Bottom lip sticking out,
legs crossed,
arms folded,
tapping the mole,
on my left bicep.
It's not my fault,
really,
I'm frustrated,
it isn't fair.
I don’t care,
I don't know,
how to be happy,
that is my conclusion,
a self-diagnosis.

My legs,
I can’t feel them.
Dear God,
I can’t move.
The devil,
put a curse,
on me.
He cracked,
my bones,
used them,
as forks,
and spoons.
I've become,
cutlery,
for Satan,
instead.

I found myself,
drowning,
unable,
to reach,
the surface.
Not quite,
dead,
yet unable,
to be called,
living.
My lungs fill,
to the brim,
as if I’m the,
sunkissed pitcher,
with sour lemonade,
inside of it.
I can’t breathe,
I’m pursed lipped,
wont accept it,
it is not,
my decision.
My cheeks,
warm yet,
wet.
Salty,
unlike,
my lungs.
It’s not,
fair,
but I’m not,
a child,
anymore.
Throwing,
tantrums,
until you give,
and I get,
my way.

Please,
I beg of,
thee,
bury,
me.
No,
a snorkel,
isn’t,
necessary,
I do not,
require,
to breathe,
and I forgot,
how to swim.
Bring tools,
to dig,
a hole,
deep.
****,
I broke,
a nail,
attempting,
free.
Worthless,
please,
push dirt,
over my head,
I’d much rather,
be dead.
Grant my wish,
desperately,
I’ve been,
good,
promisingly,
let me,
leave.

This year,
I want to,
live.
I’ll fly,
on onyx wings,
made of butterflies,
and broken,
tree limbs.
This year,
I crave to,
grow.
I’ll plant,
my own seeds,
and water,
roots,
that I’m sure,
will reach.
This year,
I’m going to,
jump.
I’ll hold,
my breath,
and know,
that yes,
I’m learning,
once again,
I can,
breathe.
This year,
I’m going to,
live,
I will fly,
jump right in,
into water,
that will grow,
my garden,
holding my breath,
I will swim,
to the surface,
breathing.