Am I supposed to feel like sunrise,
Or smell of freshly cut grass?
Am I supposed smile with my teeth
like white doves in unlocked cages?
Is this supposed to give me hope
Like a baby’s first breath?
And emptying the vacuum?

All I feel is ugly and desperate  
Like a mushroom
sprouting from cow ****
Or the fitted sheet
I never put on my bed

I fear if I go back to the beginning

I won’t ever be  
Homemade Apple crumble
Lipstick stained skin
Or my favourite Jane Austen book
Not ever again