as the fourth in my father’s string of children, i had to be everything. i was simultaneously the oldest, youngest, and middle child. not to mention, as the six of us were spread across three wives, the only child to my mother. i was a little of everything and a lot of nothing.

there are pieces of me
that will never be
happy.

my brother born blue
you'll never know exhaustion
but you still sleep-in

i bore my eyes into my screen and wait for it to burn out my eye sockets so i can’t see its faults. burning dots when you close your eyes. i want my brain to catch flame. i want my heart reduced to a foot pedal. start and stop and start and stop. i want to wither away until i am nothing but what is necessary; until i cannot cry over cracked glass, excess flesh, the holes in my life that will never be filled (because i can’t turn back time any easier than i can stop biting my nails.) i want to be a wind-up doll with nothing between the ears, nothing behind the eyes, nothing in my rib cage. i want to walk until i can’t feel my legs and keep walking.