i have a mole on my right shoulder and an always swollen heart,
i often feel lonely, i have eyes that see art.
at night i'll think i'm pretty, like when my hair falls in rings
i say the word love often so i guess i love many things

of one thing
i am sure
and that is
that i am
unsure of
myself
and it’s funny
how i can’t
sleep but my
chest closes its
eyes and hums
with a heartbeat
that is unsure of
itself, too.
i try to morph
into a body
i don’t feel
belongs to me
just so i can
fit somewhere
fit in somewhere
and i tell so
many stories
about the
universe, it
forever feels
like i am trying
to remain lost.
i am unsure
of myself;
connecting the
moles on my
skin as if they
will spell out
something bigger
so i can feel
like i matter,
at least for
a little while.
i sleep beside
myself, stare at
a reflection
so unfamiliar
i couldn’t even
identify it in
a crowd of
strangers, but
i am trying.
and one day
i’m sure i’ll
be sure
of myself but
until then,
i’ll morph into
someone i can
be proud of
and hope that
the universe
sends me back
to myself.

I love him
I tell myself
I know that
We will be together forever
I don’t believe that
We could be separated
My thoughts tell me that
He’s the love of my life
Sometimes my heart lies and says
I could live an eternity
Without him
Like my friends say
“We’re perfect for each other”
And you can’t tell me
He’s not the one.

Now read from bottom to top.

I stand alone.
A ******* the side of a ***** road.
A pretty face.
An ugly smile.
People pick up the pace
When they walk by.
They don’t like seeing
The knife in my back.
It unsettles them.
As it should.
Children stare, their parents whisper,
“This is what happens when you let love ****.”
Then they walk past.
Pools of blood lay on the ground at my feet.
The wound is a waterfall,
A continuous spray,
Of regret.
Of better judgement.
Of self worth.
Flowing down my back in riotous shades of red.
Flowing out of my body and burning in the sun.
You didn’t break my heart.
You fixed it.
With your beautiful hands
And warm lips.
And you’ll come back for me.
Because it is yours.
And I’ll wait for you.
Until I’m a husk.
And then my smile won’t be ugly.
Because you will come back.
You will ease my pain with your touch.
You will heal the wound.
You will take back your knife.
And I will be yours.
Until you plunge it into my back again.
And even then, I won’t try to save myself.