On most days when I sit to write
Perhaps a rhyme or just a quote
Some words flowing without a fight
Some are poems I never wrote

I write about the things I know
The images that rise and float
But haunting are the seeds I sow
Detailed in poems I never wrote

Compose the promise that one day
I’ll finish strong, I make a note
But hidden words I want to say
Are in the poems I never wrote

The chances that I dare to take
Protected by my writer’s vote
I hide behind the rhymes I make
In the poems I never wrote

I am adept
In the art of being okay
I have mastered the craft
Of covering my troubles
I use all sorts of fancy facades
Acrylic, oil, watercolor
You name it.

I can paint over nearly anything

You will never know
How late I was up last night
Or why.

My eyes flicker
Like candlelight
But you couldn’t see
You couldn’t possibly see
I’m too good
For that.

I can dance, too
Waltzing away my sorrows
Carefully tip toe-ing the
Pas-de-I-am-fine
I get a standing ovation every time

I’m very talented, you see.

But my all time favorite
Is my disappearing act
I’m still perfecting it
Right now
But one of these days
I’ll show you
How I
Slip
Slip
Slip
Away

Right through your fingers.

I despise myself for not being someone you could love.

You betrayed yourself
when you were thinking bad things
about your body