i think i am lost


because i've felt nothing
to be right, anger in every
drink of water, i used to be soft
and gentle,

but I am too calculated now
bleeding white lies and pretends
soup broth, brittle bones
snapping beneath a touch
or shaken by a lust
awaken by a kiss
put to sleep all the same

I have so little to give
I have been fronting with
what my mother wants to
hear, and I'm afraid it's all
a fib,

what if I am only a shell of
words my father has spoken
paper mache and tea leaves
a prophecy spoken too soon
what if I am to fail
swallowed up in
this bitterness


what if I
am to
fail.