sometimes
i wish that God would drop His golden yo-yo from the sky
and turn me yellow. <3

"is cutting a sin?"
you ask me.
only fourteen years old.
and you show me your wrists.
one line for the divorce
another for your mother's death
a 3rd to feel the sadness in a tangible form.
but there's a fourth line, it's the strongest
it's the lifeline
and I threw it to you the moment you told me.

strangers hold up scoring cards as I pass by
6
4
8
3
i pretend not to notice them, but I do

I try to pretend like I enjoy talking about myself
when people ask me stupid questions about my life:
"where do you work?"
"how are the wedding plans coming?"
"are you going to school?"

all of which hold very little importance
so I shy away from them
perhaps it is because I do not feel worthy of such attention
cannot grasp that some people genuinely wish to know

I don't show love or interest like that
sometimes I am afraid that I am not capable of loving at all

but that-
is a silly notion
scrawled up on Lucifer's drawing table
he wishes for me to be miserable, as he is
why do I succumb to the lies

I feel incomplete sometimes (always)
and I wonder if Pacman feels like an incomplete ball of sunshine, too

"Sunshine," he calls me.

and I shrink from my lover,
because I don't know what to do with my darkness.

accept everything
let go of the past and reach
for what could happen.

We're like birds who've lost
our voices.  Trying to tweet,
but no sound comes out.

Scroll through the newsfeed
that feeds anything but your
starving human soul.

i'll pluck poetry
from the flowerbeds to read.
you are not alone.