I want to love you, but I'm afraid to feel
the hollow space in my chest--hallowed ground.
I want to kiss your lips and warm your skin
with the vibrations pulsing through your sense of
touching me where I can't reach
in that cavern housing my thoughts,
the "will they see me? will they want to know"
that I cover myself in dog hair disarray,
that I stand with the fridge door open, chewing shriveled carrots;
hoping to shrink what is soft, weak, feminine, emotional,
dangerous.

but you never respond. you match my arched eyebrows
and my tired dry skin, stretched like saran wrap,
keeping my stench our secret for now.

a mirror never lies,
so why doesn't she love me
as I love her.