I feel like property you check in
Every now and then

To make sure that my weeds are clear

        so someone can move in

You don't have to tell me why
my gods look like you

My hell was populated with gray clouded flames,
merciless darkened waves,
All-encompassing and blinded by faith
of new tastes

and everything remained the same
                                         sickening gray.

But you tasted like spring
with a touch of grace
and suddenly I could say
the things I felt and learned to need

outside of me.

Instead of drowning in ropes of flashflood restraint,
I clung to your hips
and learned to worship

at the ground of something
                                                   holy.

You may not have those crooked teeth,

But I still wonder
Is there somewhere


You can meet                

              me?

I used to turn my brain off for days
But now I think in waves
Incessant slideshows


of you

Do you know how desperately I wish


     we were right for each other?

i wish it was easier

            i wish some switch in my methodical brain sent streams burst through the levies

                                       a safe space to land
in all encompassing darkness

  
       but love stays

                                      which makes this pain

                                                                                  unbearable.

im mourning us
                                                   while holding onto what i begged and pleaded the universe
                                        to return to me

But she turned a deaf ear
so now we're here


and I can't yet fix everything.

I hate my inner *****
                                 who flares recurringly, consistently,
        cruelly to the surface upon those
                                                            who least deserve it.

I hate my inner narcissist
                                        who rears herself
                                                                            so cleanly
                              on the outer sleeve of
                                                   Me
          bashing down while lifting me up
                                                            on the shoulders of
                                            comparison

I hate my learned complexes
                                    bred not of my parents
            but of a woman who saw                       a light
                             and sought only to
                                                                         consume it.

I hate how amid the dread and sin
                               every rippled part of these indentions below my skin
                                      I must completely forgive them.