me and all my ghosts;
taking the stage! chewing through scenery like
the very hungry caterpillar; obsessed with
accepting half-eaten garbage until i can’t feel that
void. anxiety propelling every clandestine
interaction. . . waiting for the day someone
bakes me a cake with my name on it.

it’s ******* horrid.

we’re in your room – a place i’ve never been
but manages to smell exactly like home.
the carpet’s ******–  but to me, it feels like
beach waves. i cried all the way home,
not because i missed you.

i missed the waves.

i threw myself off every emotional cliff
in attempt to replicate that safety;
my bathroom floor heard more
prayers when the sun went down
than sunday mass ever did.

don’t worry, sunshine.
you did everything right; scouring macy’s for
cupcake pans, mixing the batter with
every offerable ounce of my blood.

but it wasn’t a cake.
you didn’t taste like one either.