and that worn out
spot- third rib down,
two inches to the
right- where i used
to tuck away all your
beautiful words, that
i cleaned out, scraped
out, scrubbed out,
bleached, rinsed,
repeated until there
was no more lingering
after burn of the things
that used to call it
home has finally started
to cool. i am waiting
for my wings to
remember that they
had a purpose before
you, that they do not
need to be licked or
pampered before they
are functional again.
i am a hot air balloon,
a lily pad, a new moon.
******* for ever having
made me think i could
be anything less.

god, all this air is
so thick. i've been
dormant for too long
i fear. i have not hit you,
hated you, told you how
badly you ****** me up
to your face yet but lord
you did. you turned me
into somekindof outline
with blurred edges and
creases that just won't
flatten. i wanted to be
yellow andgreen and
red comingoutofmy
seams but you took
that all away from
me, you disgusting
excuse for a human.

i've been
filling
myself
with sand
with sand
with sand

hush now
how can
you stand
the noise
you've put in
our ears please
just come
home