Let me be a child once more
as I uncoil this scratchy length of rope
and fashion it into the likeness of a lasso
that ensnares the necks of imaginary villains.

Allow me this one moment
of childhood as I scale this tree
reliving dusty memories
of skinned palms
and bad falls
placed in family storage.

Can we play make believe,
perched atop this mossy branch;
legs swinging beneath us?
I want to pretend
this is an execution.

It’s a struggle to fit the
loop over my head then
tighten the knot near my pulse.
I tie off the other end
*****, black toothed smiles
grinning underneath my nails.

Do you have any last words?
Yes, but they will be written
and safety pinned to my shirt.

Deep breaths, steady nerves, steely guts.
The familiar lurch in my stomach
from free fall rises in my diaphragm.
A snap, an involuntary spasm
and then the rediscovery
of blissful, childish ignorance.

I think I'm allergic to eating..

       I wake up the next day to soft blue blotches on my thighs
       And angry red lines on my hip.

I'd rather live my life not knowing
When I'll pack up my belongings
And wave cold goodbyes to my loved ones
Watch them heal themselves at the funeral
Which isn't really for me
But for their hurt hearts
It'll be then when my world transforms
To black and white
Colorless
No more happiness
They cry when I'm born
They cry when I die
And thy cry with every little other thing
That's hurt me in my life
Why is sadness a thing?
Sadness is like a *** of gum
It has that initial burst of flavor
Which slowly fades away
But you still chew it
Because it's there
And you just for some reason
You don't let it go
Until you go to bed
Where you can just experience
A nightmare
Instead
Though I'd rather not know my death day
Until the snow is melted
And I am imbetted
In the ground

Prep me for surgery.
I don’t know what’s happening.
This is an emergency.
A medical mystery.
Here’s my consent in writing.
My heart is gone, picked up and left.
Find me a new one.
Then sew it in my chest.

I am the Tin Man.
Colored hearts on my sleeve.
Drinking from an oil can.
Empty as can be.
With a map of misguided direction.
And the burning of my isolation.
I am the Tin Man.
Broken like you see.

I no longer have the heart to love.
Of course you refused and denied.
Wanting the things I couldn’t give.
You kicked me to the curbside.
How sad it must be.
Being the name no one will miss.
But I’ll mark you down on my list.
Even if it hurts to reminisce.

My joints are rusted through.
The hinges scream and grind.
Damage was all we really knew.
Tearing through body and mind.
The things that were stolen.
We now must replace.
At the bottom of the stairs.
And in the lines we erased.

Put me back together.
Give me back my skin.
I’d rather die from a broken heart.
Than live as a piece of tin.
Send a pulse to the vein.
Tune the drum at my core.
I am not an empty frame.
The Tin Man is no more.

We* all have weights on our shoulders
                                                       ­ so
Why *discriminate people for their weight?
We all have fats in our body
so why single out and point at that plump person
just to have a good laugh ?
                                                       or
Are you so insecure of yourself?
There are only two types of people in the world;
those who are happy and those who are miserable.
So don't look at our physical weight,
look at our tired shoulders
who have been carrying our emotional weight.