i cannot stand her wealth of knowledge
or the way her cheeks slope down to her neck
i hate the way she speaks in multi-syllables and similes
i hate her teeth
and the way she curves her mouth to grow wealthy in attention
the way she reaches out with slick palms and ears disgusts me
i hate her anxiety
and how she thinks the way she holds a cigarette is special
i cannot stand the rumbling of distress under her bones
or the way her eyelids close, laden with anticipation
it's like when you squint your eyes and
what's in front of you doubles
each form hovering in synchronization
moving in and out of focus
i have run out of words and
well-formed sentences
to describe to you how my skin burns
and my bones are knives
what used to be talent
is now a mess of pathetic
failures hidden inside tangles of simple metaphors
and
i cannot stop telling myself
that the safety and balance that i crave
is the lining of the coffin.