your neck is concrete
where once it was limber;
but your hair was pulled once
too vigorously
and now all you can do is nod.

and it’s not that you forgot how to say
no.
it’s that you simply cannot say
no;
no, I don’t want to hook up with you
no, this isn’t giving me any pleasure
no, you treat me like a
sub-human fleshlight.

but you still go ahead with it;
a fantastical distraction.
but that’s all it ever is
in it’s many forms;
a distraction.

i called them
my life goggles -
drowning in thin air
unaware that i could
move volcanoes with my
mind.
minding my own business
being stuck in my own business
feeling
trapped
in my own business.
life goggles fogged over
clogging up
and blocking my tears from view.

words cut deep;
you were my anaesthesia.

then, you wore off;
i died under the knife.

when i got home that night

- three-hundred and sixty-five days

prior to writing this,
i’d spent exactly

- forty-five minutes

drinking.
i’d left the house at

- eight-thirty pm

and planned to spend about

- three and a half-hours

shooting the **** with old friends
while pretending i was okay.
instead, i downed

- three double-shots of ***** and lemonade
- three double-shots of malibu and coke
- 2 shots of amaretto and coke
- and one pint of beer.

and after those forty five minutes,
my friend spent about

- twenty minutes

dragging me home.
it took

- two-and-a-half minutes

to explain to her that i’d been ill.
very ill.
and that really, i still was
very ill.
and it took

- two-point-five seconds

for her to ignore me.
when I got home that night

- three-hundred and sixty-five days

prior to writing this,
i spent about

- one hour

throwing up through my mouth.
and through my nose.

- two eyes
- one t-shirt
- one toilet bowl
- one bedsheet

soaked in tears, mascara and *****

he holds the sun.
i know this because
he emits a piece of it’s shine
towards me every day.
it’s in his smile
when he hasn’t seen me in a while;
it’s in the warmth of his skin,
holding me from within -
i look up to him
-blinding-
always shining
although occasionally clouded
from view;
he is my one constant.
the grandest star in the sky.

i want to curl up with you;
rainy Sunday afternoon
watching old Hepburn films
and you stroke my hair
and i stare at you.

i want to read to you;
candle-lit room
scented with mangos -
and you rest your legs on mine
and i smile at you.

i want to get high with you;
flowers in bloom
you smell ashy
and we listen to Syd Barrett
and I cry with you.

i want to ride with you
sunlit bedroom -
sweaty expressions
and palma violets gush from my depths
and i die with you.

i bathe in milk
an alkaline to bleach
the acidic stench of stress
out of my poor pores

i lie in a rose garden
the hummingbird flying over me
to cleanse the noise
of the distant city

sitting pretty
with cucumbers over my eyelids
while a lady caresses my nailbeds
with a file

it seems menial;
that this is supposed to make me
feel better on the outside
when inside i’m in denial

self care is not just
an instagrammable bath bomb
exploding in the consumer’s face
like the feeling exploding in the feeler

it’s realer.
i washed today,
brushed my teeth today
got dressed today

i’m impressed today.
today i am a phenomenal woman.
today i am a higher being;
i am maya

sitting in her mansion
sipping on her sweet tea
smiling sweetly;
reminiscing on her millions.