I want to throw off
the cloak of “trying to impress you.”
it’s gotten so
heavy
soaked with my insecurities
and self-loathing,
always snagging
on thorns and skeletons and the
remnants of broken hearts.
I want to shatter
the bottle that held my tears
shed over not being good enough.
Pour my philophobia
into a sea that never dries up.
It’s all salt water anyways.
I want to compose
a cacophony of all the voices that sung
“you’re fake” -- “ugly” -- “worthless” --“unloved” --
into my ears
and then burn the sheet music.
Destruction…
never felt so good.