I have an awful habit
of always going
where I am needed
and never having
my needs met
until someone
realizes it
and relieves it
A gust of wind
pierces through
my soul
Buttons torn off
and floating
Blouse torn
down the middle
as I walk
into mourning
I own a body
I don’t believe in
If only it could
match my soul’s
experience
I try to age it
by smoking heavily
and then burning
all the evidence
Such lies
always lead to
happiness
and never
severance
I wear my heart
on the outside
like an infant
held in reverence  
simply for surviving