They told me way too long
So I tried to make it short,
I shrank and shrank and shrank
so very small.
They took away my feet
and then my ankles
then my knees,
Till not very much was left of me
at all.
They told me take out bulk
That all it was was outside hulk
So I grew thin and frail and slender
and see-through,
Until I couldn’t see me
without my confidence receeding;
I disappear sideways,
Do I look good enough for you?
They told me take out words
So I took out words and words
And I stole my broken grammar
hardly sense bones.
They told me too many letters
I wrote to you, too many letters
Letters with only one address:
living room floor,
But I felt they were at home
replacing ground with styrofoam
that came out of my mouth,
my hollow core.
So I let them steal my letters
Let them rip and burn my letters
They tore my tiny heart out;
left askew
They took away those letters
almost every goddamned letter,
Until the only thing they left behind
was U.