They ask me if I am empty
What is it to be full?

A constantly shattering piece of pottery
Letting all the air escape
But what difference does it make
If the air wasn't trapped in the first place

I woke up today.
Wow I'm proud!
Texts "goodmorning, I hope you had a good sleep and have a good day"
I stretch my body to the point where I hope every bone breaks out of place and ligaments do not bounce back
With failure, I step forward, put on my best skirt and shirt, wishwashing my hair around in the mirror until I realize I need to tame my mane
I gather my tools and proceed groggily to plug the straightener into the outlet
Hoping an electric shock may find me spasming on the ground
With failure, I brush my hair, parting ways through the sea where Israel could pass through but Pharoah would perish
I watch as the numbers rise to the temperature I like to bake brownies at
As it reaches the high, I hope for a malfunction which will set me on the bathroom floor, fried as if someone forgot the brownies in the oven
With failure, I begin to make straight my crookedness
I watch as with each pass I burn my hands searching for hiding waves
I slowly run through piece after piece hoping for the cord to strangle and burn me around the neck so I am left for empty
With failure, I look in the mirror and smile, isn't she beautiful!

To you,
I am nothing
And that is okay

The screams
Are
Unbearable
As I head south
I hear them
Echoing
Echoing my name
As if
I am leaving
A whole world
For a dystopia
Of love