and i can't feel like myself,
i'm locked inside the world of,
somebody else.
where the walls feel like a box,
and this skin feels like a toxin
to me.

i wanna be free

This silly little poem
          Gives flight to silly wings
                        I soar into the distance
A chain trailing at my feet
.
They tied me to the lighthouse
                  It's beam searching the footwall
My pen begins to waiver
.
The bird begins to fall
.
Near the rocks I'll stay
Crowing to the abyss
          Calling with my heart
And hear the echo fly offbeat
.
And so my poem waits
Without a place to go
Patiently I'm caged
.
Until the raven
                 breaks down walls.

broken
surroundings
hidden
underneath
discrete skins
flat spots
drowning in
superficial
layers of
constricted
capillaries
walls
embed in
bleached skin

made of
salty tears
and eggshell
crystals
cutting out
the wafting
of diurnal
light-blue
ozone

resistant
coating
burning on
crusted
cheek
beneath
thin
recalcitrant
cuticles

forcing into
lamping
layers of
red-blue-
purple-yellow-
green-white-
ecchymosis
symptoms
just­if­ying
on its own

lifeblood carefully unfurling its branches
in the marrow’s guardian cells
connecting with permeable walls
when pressure is looking for an elastic collision and
the steady stream animats the soul
bursting into a state of internal ataraxia