I take my skin
unstitching it from my body
ringing it out to dry in my bathroom tub
It’s weary and needs a moment to be laid to rest
All of it is covered in dirt-
After taking responsibility for its mother
apologizing for its brother and for its own feelings
Shame coats it-
only I couldn’t tell you who the shame belongs to
I’m only exposed heart and bone right now
please do not mind the blood I leave at your feet
This is all I have left over as an apology

- when do we stop letting other peoples mistakes become our own
-  I am still trying to figure it out

I am an azamon
No need for
A ******* man

I am an azamon
True blue
By DNA

I am an amazon
A strong woman
Who want take ****

I hate you and your new car.
                                             I hope every time you go to the gas station, it's three dollars per gallon. I hope you make so many enemies that there's a line to sugar your gas tank, I hope your engine knocks and your head gasket blows and your timing belt snaps and your rims warp and your tires pop every time you pass my street. I could still beat you in a race, even with your ugly sport package and plasti-dipped grill, I could still beat you in a race because I am angrier than you. I am angrier than you, and I always will be.
                                                             ­                                   I hate you,
                                                            ­                       And I hate your new car.

I strip myself of everything that makes me
Myself
And then ask  
Who am I?

and when you complain
about the bite you receive
do not forget
who sharpened these teeth.

— you taught this dog to bite

The end result of talking to someone who has their read receipts on is the nagging feeling that whatever you said was not worthy of a response.

Your message is just one of many unanswered notifications that when added together equal a red bubble on a screen that gets ignored and forgotten.

Regardless of the meaning behind it - you feel ignored and forgotten.

So why do you still try.

Each message you send is like an arrow shot with no ending destination hoping to land near something that resembles some sense of stability before shooter loses their balance.

Each moment between messages drags longer and longer while think, “please turn from delivered to read”

You know they’re just busy.

So you wait a few hours, no response in sight. So, like a fool, you cast out a new arrow, as if you have an endless supply.

And you watch within minutes their name hits the screen, because your existence is remembered. So you quickly respond as to hold their attention that you have been craving all day. But that’s all you are going to get.

Because as much as you want to think you are someone special

You’re just a blip. Nothing more than a name on a screen that just gets swiped away. Just a number in a little red bubble waiting to be remembered.