I don't like to make small talk
But you make it so much fun.

I don't like to travel
But I would to see you.

I don't like human contact
But I'd run up and hug you.

I don't like emotions
But when I'm with you I don't know how to feel.

I don't like people
But I really think I love you...

I can fake my identity and try to look happy,
but its all just a cover.
Take a swig from the flask and remove the last mask
only to find another.

There was once a time when I knew myself,
but now I'm not so sure.
All semblance of self-worth lay eroding in the dirt,
and its all thanks to her.

It's not really her fault, I'm truly to blame.
I grew selfish out of fear.
Afraid of being alone, I couldn't let her go
and now she's nowhere near.

I can't find the reasons, I keep asking why.
There's so much to life but we all fear to die.
Is it a gift or is it a curse?
We're so focused on success that we lose sight of our worth.

Ladies and gentleman,
there's something I really need to say.
We need to stop living for tomorrow
and start living for today.

I want to see my muscles and bones
I want to see the tissues that make up
this fractured body
I want to write my favorite
poems on the insides of my eyelids
so I see beauty when I blink
I want to unzip my skin and shake off the dust
gathered from years of being
unused and untouched
I want to inspect myself on the inside
to see my body work together when my brain sleeps
coauthoring my breath
instructing me to keep living.
I want to see the make up of me
and try to retrace my muscle memory into something new
string my tendons into bows
wrap my veins into vines around my mothers' garden
so she sees the tattered reasons why I can't help her bloom.
I want to see if there's more to me
or less of me
most importantly I want to see if you're still carved into my stomach
knots leaving scars.
I'm curious
if my insides are more beautiful than my outside

Am I trapped,
Or is this just the way to be?
Am I alive,
Or is this just some cosmic energy?
Am I happy,
Or is this lack of agony?
Am I sad,
Or is this how it should be?
Am I floating,
Or the world is flashing past me?
Am I flying,
Or the universe is revolving around me?
Am I thinking,
Or the thoughts are piercing me?
Am I writing,
Or are the words playing hide and seek?

red pen lines cover pale thighs and i am almost ashamed.