Did you ever wake up and realize
that somehow, over night,
everything stopped making sense?
All of a sudden, your bed feels foreign to you.
Your pillow is cold against your cheek and
your blankets aren’t as comforting
as they used to be.
You drag yourself out
from beneath the covers
and the walk to the bathroom
Feels longer than you remember.
The tile on the floor is more solid and
the little rug in front of the sink
no longer caresses your toes.
When you look up,
when you make eye contact with yourself,
you notice that your eyes
are no longer the same shade of blue.
Your hair is longer and lighter,
your shoulders sag lower,
and the wrinkles at the corners
of your eyes are more defined.
You turn the **** on the sink
but the water takes longer to warm
than it did the night before.
Washing your face,
you hope that it’s all just an illusion.
You look up again and nothing’s changed.
Your heart starts to race,
you hope that it’s just an off morning
but your mind tells you that you know better.
Slowly, you take the few steps
back to your room and
look at the person lying
in the space beside yours.
You close your eyes and
open them once more.
Nothing, you feel nothing.
The person lying in your bed
is suddenly a stranger,
and then you realize,
so is the person inside of you.

For My Sister*

Doll face, what does it matter
if you're ugly as hell?
If you’re short or you’re fat
Or your face is full of pimples?
Why the hell should it matter?

Sweetness, who gives a ****
If you tie your laces upside down?
And your left hand smudges the words on the page?
If you break down crying at the sight of rotting road ****?
Who is anyone to laugh at you?
Who is anyone to tell you who you are?

I am sick and tired of seeing your red-rimmed eyes
I am sick and tired of seeing what they do to you
I hate to see you hurt and I crave the very best for you
I want you to be happy in all the ways you can
Let go of it all and crawl on the ceiling, weightless

Darling, people are messed right up
And we've all got cuts and stitches and oozing wounds
But don't let the bruised and beaten up punks
the privileged warriors, the wait-listed mental patients,
the scummy lost wanderers, the vengeful aching souls,
Tell you it matters if you're ugly as hell
Please please please
Understand you are so much more than a shell
than an exoskeleton of a soul
You are a glorious, bruised and beaten up,
Ugly, pimpled masterpiece,
And it's a shame that they don't see it