I’m numb below the ankle
I walk on your eggshells
I pay no kind to splinters
I stomp on your land of glass

but in the middle of the night
when one sleeps so soundly
I weep at the sight of my wounds
for they do not ache a bit

I can stitch them myself again
using thread from my knickers
I make it much easier for you
to do as you do, I’m still bleeding

consequently I’ve left in shards
this repeats most every time
and at mid-sky I do it all again
I hear crunching beneath my skin

I think that’s why I feel nothing
nothing below the ankle
nothing below the belt
I’m cast away in a body of glass

I am a napkin
discard me.

Doodles and grease and all.
Discard me.

Like I’ve been discarded before
Again and again

No more friends.
This always happens.

If you ask them what happened
They’d blame me.

That’s probably fair.
If you don’t consider the disregard of my existence, pushed aside for others comforts.

I am a nice character yes indeed,
but you hate the actor inside.

Does it pain you to know,
that you aren’t more flawed than I

I give you advice so you might appreciate
everything I’ve given you.

But alas I am nothing. Just a napkin.

Please discard.

Every year,
Like autumn leaves I shed my friends off these twiggy bones
Because they grow too tired

Every year,
This depression it addicts me, a cycle Id rather forget
But it keeps me guessing

One of these years,
I will be found dead, hanging from our garage.
I’ll lay a tarp, I’ve written my will, it’s all put together.

Because every year,
they give up on me just like the years before
I isolate all the same.

Maybe some year,
They can reach out, and see through all my fog
I swear im not boring, just scratch my surface
You’ll see

This year,
I’ll live, to tell the tale, of losing my seasonal friends
But next who knows, I might be alone
I’ll write you when I’m gone.

Rhododendron bumblebees
Oh how weak my knees can be
Counting every step
it’s a threat, no it’s death

Palm leaves, apple trees
wishing that I could believe
my body is a temple
break it down tenfold

Lungs heave
free me
trapped inside this barn
my body is a spool of yarn.

watch me string it out

I do not want to be sexualized
Why do I do this why

I just want to be held
Not pruned, or plucked

but I ****** him once again

He doesn’t cherish this body
He does not give it praise

I hate how I must sit here
and watch him take take take

but I ****** him once again

He barely gets ***** to me
He does not bat an eye

I do not want to be viewed
I just want to disappear

but I ****** him once again

He can’t even finish
He can’t even try

I hate everything about this
I hate myself for all of this

and I can’t even ****** him again

This body is so cumbersome and empty
full of bones I dream of breaking

so ****** the idea has become that
I ****** to the thought

of how great the spoils are of wasting
this perfect body away

I am growing tired of this skin
how it hold me captive

gripping tightly to the ivory prison
I gush, the thought of carving in

A primitive temptress, a ghost of the past
a shadow on white fair skin

How I wish to paint it red, to rekindle my flame again

How cumbersome this body can be

It’s been ******, and hit, and starved, and stuffed
What more could I wish to be done?

It craves the oil in a pain of rage
It loves how my skin must boil

Oh god may I ask
Was this what you intended
When you created man in your image
Do you hate yourself just as so
So am I just another flawed creature born from a perfect god.
Destined to stray from his lies.