hello, i am a
writer, i am happy.
look at me smile.
look at me,
look at me—

no it’s not, you
dumb **** shut up,
you’re worthless,
you’re worthless,
you think you can be happy—

i am sad sometimes.
all the time—
half the time—
my lifetime—
where is the lie?

i am.
i am.
okay, i’ll be fine,
it’s fine,
okay, okay?
okay. yes, yes,
yesyesyes

look at me, i am
worthless stupid
******* amazing
shut up and look,
look at me don’t,

i don’t care i
don’t care i don’t
love you yes i do
i don’t care of course
it’s all i think about

stop stop stop,
don’t look at me,
i am too great,
too great, look,
look, i am on top,
the world is mine—

only in my head
only in my head
only in my head
shut up, shut up,
be quiet, i am tired!

leave me alone.
i don’t want to be alone.
help me be alone,
go away,
please.

please.
please.
please.

[…I don’t know what you mean.]

“I’m sorry, it’s nothing.”

*where is the lie?

i am not a poet.
i do not take thoughts,
spin them on the page,
and give them breath
the way a little man
spins gold from straw.

i am not a dreamer.
i do not ponder the stars,
wonder if they cry
or smile or laugh
or if the sheep dreams
of androids and muzzles.

i am not romantic,
with ideals of flowers—
carnations, forget-me-nots,
daisies—or letters of blood
with the alphabet
blazing a hole in the heart.

i am a person;
just that.
just that.

not all dreams come true;
don’t we all have moments
where we wish for better?
is that the right way to put it?

“don’t worry, I’ll be fine.”
i don’t think so;
you’re thinking to yourself,
“I want to die, if only I—

killed myself"? is that
right? will that make everyone
happy? aren’t you glad that
a world like that doesn’t actually exist?

the sky in the morning
(early, early, a bit too late)
is pitch black,
a glistening scene—
obsidian and morose—
like an ink stain
on your best dress shirt;
it glimmers,
coyly breathing,
drifting, pulling,
gravity on the mind,
yanking the words
from your brain
like a crow picking
at its dinner,
like an artist
ready to melt
all over a blank canvas,
like a paradoxical thief
robbing you of your
worries and sleep.

come along with me;
say “love,”
breathe “hello,”
train your ears
on the echoes
of my breathing;
there is no such thing
as running away,
because wherever we go
we are running forward.

i can be alone;
i have been alone
for quite some time;
it’s fine, i will be
alone, but
don’t worry.
you don’t have to
pretend,
you don’t have to
stay up,
you don’t have to
console me
when i want to cry—
but thank you anyway.