my heart is the plate untouched and the last kitten picked from the litter. the wilted wildflower and brown bird. you judge my painted feathers and detest my naked petals. leave me to find solace in the ditch when you spit me from your window as you drive.

time has melted into molasses and i
am lost in the meaninglessness
of artificial
pleasure.
every truth scrapes
my stomach like shards
of glass
in the mirror i broke
denying myself.
identity is what you
call it, what you see,
what you allow
yourself
to be.
someone told me if you
drink too much honey all
at once
you die, it clogs your throat
and you choke because air
can't get through
all the honey.
i wonder if the same is true
for molasses.
time has melted and i
hold the flame, this spoonful
of molasses
sits on my tongue
until
i forget
my name.

every place i turn i see
my own sadness staring
back at me, i know
you say you're there
behind the glass
but seeing past my reflection
feels like an impossible task.
the floor is so inviting,
i know they say
isolation is harming
but i crave it; if i could escape
the company of my own sadness
i think the mirrors
might finally break.
i know you think it's you
i'm running from but i'm just
trying to find a room where
i don't have to look up.
yes, i haven't looked you
in the eyes in a while.
sadness is a curtain
i don't know
how to
draw.

we tell
each other
"you belong to yourself"
like that is
something
to be proud of.

i am glad
to say i do not
belong
to me. i am flimsy,
ever-changing,
and insignificant.

i am proud
to say i do not
belong to you.
you are illusory,
holding a pretense
of stability
you could never defend.

i belong
to nothing
but Someone, and
i see you in flowers
and sunsets
and love.

you tell me
"i belong to you
and you to me"
like we are
something
to be proud of.

sugar
here, there
addiction is rare and
everywhere
holding your hand is
as much a need
as desire,
caffeine stings my
veins like
fire

cliche. here,
take two sips of
chamomile and be
at ease, sense the wariness
and illusion of pleasure
you force yourself to drink.
an un-addiction. is this
conviction?
someone told me beliefs are
things you hold and
convictions hold you. is
that true?

my anxiety holds me.
am i a convict
behind the bars
in my mind? i talk so
frequently
of the sentence i'm serving
i forgot jail was a place
inside me.
my reflection is my only visitor.
will you be visiting?

it's probably not okay to cry in the stairwell of a building you share with like a thousand other people. right?

someday i want to be with someone who doesn’t make me afraid to embarrass myself. i don’t really know how to get to that point in a relationship or why i need it so badly. i guess i’m afraid that no one will ever think i’m worth the work. i don’t know that i am.

no matter how hard i work i just build a bigger wall. in my effort to impress and attract i conceal everything i truly want validation for. i know validation is a bad word sometimes, i know i’m not supposed to need it--much less know i need it--but sometimes i choke on the sawdust of my own apathy and truth might be bitter but at least it has a taste.

i know your truth tastes better than mine, and maybe that makes you better than me. i’ve tried changing truths and i’ve tried pretending i don’t have any but even artificial flavoring has an aftertaste impossible to avoid.

maybe someday i won’t equate embarrassment with shame, and i won’t feel the need to change my name. shedding identities to avoid coming to terms with them is an impermanent lifestyle but it’s the only one that fits. i’m sorry sometimes i can’t see past what i need to fix.