i am tired of building
my home in the arms
of strangers that vaguely
resemble your outline.

I am the stillest kind of chaos
I am the fullest kind of empty

I am

I am 4am 911 calls
I am soft poetry bouncing off peeling walls

I am I am

I am taut skin stretched over overworked knuckles
I am a kaleidoscope of tasteless adjectives scattered
over the ashes of your past lovers

I am I am I am

I am a mess,
a jumbled figure of a person
you've long forgotten
I am not myself

*I am I am I am...I am not