Consistant honesty,
something I lacked
when I was a younger me.
But now I find it hard
to bite my tongue,
so eager to roll out
a frank wound or
two.
Or blow out a cloud of,
"I don't agree."
I have to stand up for me.
If that nonstop candor
is really what you
crave,
then come back and
let me drool out
consistant honesty.

She said I
                 "Just look happier."
She was right.

of thought inside your head -
none of them are yours.

My broken bones
In a decorative vase
In New York City’s living room.
What an honour it is to be
Misunderstood.
A tragedy, oh.
Look at the way her femur is cracked.
The pain she must have felt! To have
Tasted an ounce of it, I’d never
Understand.
And the pictures are taken
And the young boys don’t “get it”
And the girls laugh at their ignorance, as they themselves
Struggle for definitions.
But I am enigmatic.
My bones have no story.
My bones can be yours.