i am full of anxiety and daydreams.

i am built from bad poetry and depression pills.

i am a puddle of liquid fire.
i am 
my own worst enemy. 

i am weighed down by words i’ll never say
and calories i shouldn’t have eaten.

i am either too clingy or too detached,
too loud or too quiet.

i am a paradox with skin and bones
and i’m trying to be okay with that.