Today is one of those days where I don't feel like I am.
I am aware of my existence but I wish I wasn't. I feel like I would be better off as a mere thought, drifting through life for a while and eventually disappearing into nothingness. A forgotten memory.
I'm too simple to drift along this earth as a person, and sometimes I can't feel things the way others do. Everything makes me think I am too different. Too useless, too distracted, too alone, too selfish. I wasn't made to live like this.

At times I feel happy. Happy with life, happy with any twist and turn life would take me on. I feel like I could accept anything, and anyone could be my friend.
Today is not like that.

Today I have trapped myself in a bubble and I don't wish to come out. I wish I could go back in time, fading from teen to child to infant and eventually I'd crawl back in to my mothers womb until I vanished into nothing but a memory.

You begged me to read you my poems aloud but my words came out slurred from the wetness of the back of your tongue and my rolling tears I told you I could never write a poem about you because I only write about things that break my heart but you've clawed your way out of me and now you're just another empty entry in my journal

my mind is a vassal collection of thoughts to my body where my skin can't remember the feeling of your hands but my mind has an acute sense of your words

My brain is aching:

I'm not crazy I'm not crazy I'm not crazy
I remember every syllable and vowel your rotund mouth spoke I remember everything I remember everything

You always asked me why i was choosing to write about the collective 'them' over you but you chose her over me inspite of everything your lips formed

"I love the way your skin smell oh god I love it" says your darting tongue, but does her skin smell the same as mine or were you just confused that night? Because one time you told me my scent was so familiar in the back of your nasal cavity, that there was no mistaking it was me

I never thought I could write you a line of poetry because you were too good to me but I've written you a book because you're the bane of my existence and my god I can hear my blood rushing through my chest as it tightens and my airways choke up like one of your asthma attacks, and you reach for your inhaler so you can breathe but for me nothing can dissipate this feeling

I think of you with her on repeat like an all night movie marathon of my worst nightmares and how my brain mixed up what it was like to care about another human and how to tear one apart with my tongue

Are you a ******?*
Whirlwinds of flashes
Passed in front of her eyes
And she shut them tight,
Remembering,
Had he touched her?
No.
Had he touched her?
No!
Had he touched her?
Yes...
He had touched her deeper
Than the reach of physicality,
He had touched her firmer than
Sensations of all tactile reality,
She knew kisses that tasted of Forever,
Without having kissed at all,
So what could she answer!
She was untouched,
Yet she was not.
She recollected herself,
Replied a meek Yes,
And felt herself violated by
Another alien self,
A tear rolled down silently,
As her soul bled to death.

I pass myself off as a replica.

previous applicants need not apply?
why?

are we just fodder for cannon when needed
and when needs arise
who dies?
not them tinpot general men
it's us
and then the telegram's sent
to the family?

I suppose they just text telegrams today
it's another institution that passed slowly away

there's much to be said for the personal touch
but we don't get too much of that.

On Sunday I usually hate Sunday
which is the day before what I call
no fun day
a monday
and I want it to be Friday

I'd like it to be Friday in
nineteen sixty nine
but likes are like time mines
they blow up in your face,

that's why I pass myself off as a replica,
I never knew the real me.

We are two together.
Your touch. My voice. Our scent.
You run your hands up my hip, my side, the edge of my breast, and finally they land, and tighten on my neck.
And my pulse thrills and quickens.
You move within me and my body comes alive.
Lightening fills my veins when I feel the sting of the pull of your hand at my hair.
And my heart beats within my chest. Molten flows from my body.
And all that escapes from my lips is a light moan. A gasp. A whisper of a breath.
Sweetness.

My walls will cave in (just like placards stacked up horizontally fall back with the wind) along with every wave of anxiety-
Right then, I will fall short of words, or rather lose the intelligence of speaking-
Goosebumps, butterflies, shivers and my heart dipping into the cold Pacific won't just be defense mechanisms.
My heart will appear to jolt awake and then dead repeatedly by the society I put myself in;
I will feel electricity running around in my veins, often sparking out of my eyes as the salty tears that trigger short circuits
The ones they say could be caused by the heat-
Indeed- but it's also the cold, the wind, rain and the snow
Words like unknown, unforeseen and anonymous manifesting and getting under my skin- make my jaws quiver and heart dip.

Often my gut nudges me to stand and to speak and to, for once, not fear an omen before I deliver a speech,
But when I speak, though my mouth moves to enunciate what I remembered from the paper,
And as I attempt to collect and reflect my confidence through my features,
My fingers tremble as I try to fit them into my fists behind my back-
These legs shiver behind the pedestal, hidden under slacks.
For people think these mere trifles shouldn't ******* the silhouette that I bear,
Fear of the unknown? Don't be scared, scared!
My nerve ends nervously make my fingers dance as I attempt to provide them a temporary occupation-
'Cross your fingers, close your fists,
Pretend to text, you're better than this.'

So dear me, oh dear me I am sorry-
I am sorry for constantly holding you back;
Sorry for all the chances I did not let you take, all because
I sometimes tend to diverge my faults out as through a prism,
And have always been someone who can never jeopardize her pursuit for perfection.

Sorry, for the seeds of my anxiety have given birth to the roots of my skepticism-
For I paint doubt over every pretty scenery you etch in my mind,
My inhibitions and myself, thinking things over, rewind, rewind.

If I were Rapunzel my anxiety would be the tower that holds me encapsulated- a hostage;
With no demands whatsoever, only a plain, ruthless, endless need to cause damage.

I guess it's true
No one wants me because I am over used
When he loved me with the back of his hand
It taught me to take it like a man
I am  damaged yes I own up to it
And this blood running down my legs isn't the sign of me becoming a woman, but instead is a sign of me being forced into being a scared and scarred little girl
No it's not my period, but a reminder of the period in time I didn't have a reason to vent and rhyme;until I met you.
Scared and
Scarred little girl
Violated savagely by this cruel not so little world
Angry with everything
So when you say I'm pmsing
You're right, I am Protecting MySelf

My back hurts so bad,

But nobody will help,

Please let me die now.

Oh!  There it is!
The blood of my Mothers’
Sins
Blossoming on
My white sheets
Like a bouquet of English roses.
A shame -
Laundry day had
Been yesterday.  

My thighs have been painted
Rouge -
They blush
Like my cheeks
When my gaze
Lingers on my body
Too long in the mirror
As I put on my Sunday dress.

The needles in my
Lower back fill my
****** with blood -
I am a woman now -
And as such I must
Wake before the sun
And wash my sheets
And my body
Before anyone has a chance
To smell the iron and the shame
Between my legs.  

I have never been so
Acutely aware of my body:
My sore ******* feel like
Overripe tomatoes ready to burst,
My stomach bloated and taking up
Space I’m told is not ladylike -
My head throbs, my limbs ache, and
I continue to shed my insides.
How is it I never noticed
The cry of my body before?

A week of blood
Before I have served my sentence
For a woman
Who dared to disobey -
I clean the stains
And wash myself
Away.