Like a broken machine
my mind tries to shut down,
but the cogs keep spinning
round and round.

Completely overheated,
the oils run dry—
you overthink and worry
‘till one day you die.

She tells me, “You should have five kids with your face, you’re beautiful,” after she asks how many kids I want and I tell her I think I’m stopping at the one I have. I laugh, because I’m not beautiful.
But I feel seen.

She always calls me beautiful, and I know it’s not my looks. It’s my compassion, my bedside manner. I ask about her day and sometimes I tell her about mine.
She says they don’t talk to her like I do—and that makes me sad.

She’ll tell me about her granddaughter while I prep my supplies, and I’ll remind her to go easy on the girl while I flush her tube.
Her daughter pops in. She knows me by name, wears a look of relief because I’ve already done oral care and tucked her in for the night.
While I clean up, her daughter tells me about her week.
They both say they wish I worked through the week.

I’d like to stay longer, but I’ve got two more rooms.
So I say my goodnights and push my cart along.

She’s on hospice. I know how this goes. I’ve been through this before.
But when she goes, I will miss her.
I’ll hope she finally gets that Bud Light she’s been asking for when she crosses over.
And I’ll think of her every time I prep that room for a new patient.

I went to college, I got a degree, I don't do drugs, well- not that many,
I've played the wife and the side piece too, I've funded others life styles-
then suffered alone
I spend my days checking my phone
For what? I'm not sure, anyone who gave a **** about me I kicked to the curb-
or they left,
Had enough of my facade,
my relationship with others
always goes wrong
Either I'm too codependent or
I live on the moon
I never could get it right,
so I've hid in my room
I used to go out ya know- I used to be fun,
I could laugh and have a good time but now I just run
If I take too many shots I'll start to cry
so instead of ruining the party
I think I'll just hide
I ache for a feeling that doesn't exist but when I get close my head throws a fit
I know all my flaws and
every ugly feature
How am I supposed to believe someone else could love this creature?
I'm better on paper and returned in practice, the warranty's gone bad
there's no reason to have this
Just for a second I believe
you think I'm gold,
and though that feels so peaceful-
my mind turns me to mold
And you can't see that
I'm making you sick
I don't want to hurt you,
I want to be loved
But once these thoughts start rolling in- sticking around is easier said than done