I am lost,
Only to be complete in my brokenness...
An imagination left to its fragments -
Almost methodically widdled down to dust,
My body left mindless,
My soul in shambles -
I am empty.

An uninhabited cup waiting to be filled,
A blank canvas needing paint -

Who am I to wander this world?
Who am I to love someone?
Who am I to exist?

Everyone has their own story to tell.
A reason they came, a reason they left.

We are all writing our stories.
Some people will pause to re-read previous chapters.

But where is the sense in that?
We all must keep writing to live the life we want to.

Like a drug I tear me apart.
Myself isn't usually a problem,
but her two cents can cause great damage.

I loves to write about love to come,
wishing upon dying stars far away.

Myself lives on instinct,
always defensive from being hurt one to many times.

And Me lashes out to hurt,
wanting to cause pain and gain power.

They are all in a constant battle.
I, the true self.

But when the odds are two against one,
there is little hope good will prevail.

I know what I mean when I say it
Though you think I'm talking in code
A fancier truth I will forfeit
When I'm in your humble abode

I only delay in your absence
If you are away in your head
But time is the killer of nonsense
So words that are weak can lie dead

I've seen what I needed to witness
A carefully crafted display
And I am no longer a harness
My fibers have started to fray

The process began on the fringes
The very outside of ourselves
And somehow undid all the hinges
To doors binding both of our hells

That lonely feeling i used to get
at 4 a.m. when the whole world
is silent
when my thoughts screamed loud enough
to fill the void with
anxiety
pain
and reality
ever since i saw your eyes
that feeling hasn't washed over me
4 a.m. is no longer lonely
and the thoughts that used to scream
anxiety
pain
and reality
now scream
you
you
and you.
*-s.k.

I was in love with anatomy
the symmetry of my body
poised for flight,
the heights it would take
over parents, lovers, a keen
riding over truth and detail.
I thought growing up would be
this rising from everything
old and earthly,
not these faltering steps out the door
every day, then back again.

to shed one's own skin
is a painful process

letting go of something that was once a part of you
makes you question your existence in the world

who am i

i peel this layer of skin away
leaving paper thin paper white patches all over this house

the skin underneath is red and raw

in some places, i peeled away too much
and the skin bleeds

but the pink flesh is so beautiful

I am so beautiful

i have removed and discarded the shell of me
i will start anew

skin replenishes itself
and i will be a new person

but

i will also be me



the skin will fall away and grow back
and
this new skin will be untouched

by you


but for some reason
no matter how much skin is peeled away,

these scars are always visible


i desperately search for ways to speed up this process

to change into a new person
a person who knows how to be content

a person who has never known you,
and therefore will never miss you




but as it is,
my body is bleeding
my hair falls out in clumps

and my heart aches
for you

underneath these broken ribs