How do I speak up for myself
when every man I meet
pulls out my teeth?

What do I say to the skeletons in the closet?
Their bones know no warmth, their bodies are long gone.
The only conversations I have with them are their ankles and fingers sighing forward against the door, only moved by the wind.

You speak to me,
want to bring me up tough,
but I'm a gentle, soft winged bird.
These songs aren't sung about war,
I only breathe about love and loving.

(I wish I could take myself to where the sun is always shining and skin is never blue, where the Earth is always quiet.)

Yell into my mouth the instructions for caramel,
please mishka,
my insides don't feel sweet, they're bottles of painkillers eaten with a raw hunger swelling and grazing all my skin. I feel pretty with you
and entirely worthwhile
but here
and here and here
I still hurt.

Your loveliness was never warm ginger in my stomach, it was the lily scent
to cover my decay.