for years, my bones have felt more
like thin glass, feeble, brittle
little weak supports that
cannot begin to imagine embodying pillars
my frame a vase,
an empty shell filled with nothingness
i am but a half built monument of girl flesh that
never knew how to stand on her own
my fingers feel more like
knives, not dull but sharp, cold
little needles that puncture venom
underneath the skin, vile teeth
my mouth, a death kiss
i have failed at putting words
to the misery, this agony i've bared since childhood
a deep self hatred for who i fail to be
and for how little me there actually is
– half born like an uneaten dead twin
here, in this mind of mine
i’ve crumbled, a ruin of solemn, ashen rubble
consumed by the promise of structure
the hope of ending what shouldn’t have begun
i have failed at this too however
and it only feeds the monster within
who is that then
if not the human in me?