When it comes, your smile is more of a statement
than a question mark. I crack myself dry and
lose the chapstick. I later find it on the floor.
I threw it there in the quick strobe of psychosis.
But where are your words now? You see, since Gregor Samsa
threw himself off a balcony thinking he could fly
after dropping too much LSD, I lost part of my larynx.
I’ve been chain smoking since the cops called.
Don’t blame a bug. No one else knows how to love a roach.
Where is your mirror? Since we all hate confessions
I try not to read Plath, or open my mouth.
I can’t touch myself without breaking a bone because
I’m all glass and deception and Tennessee Williams
was once my sugar daddy, but he drove off and I am cold.
My oven is open. I only speak as it heats up.
What happened to your eyes? My eyes are lost
roaming the streets. They’re cloaked in red wool and
I feel them scratching. I’d get them back but
I have no money left for a taxi let alone
a search party. Something feels too Little Red here.
I am also the wolf. I am also my own shoveled snow.
Are you doing better? I hate wolves as much as mania
and sharp teeth. Send a prayer only if you believe
thoughts count. But sometimes I can’t reach up to ten.
Mail me a letter soaked in your lover’s perfume
so I can smell like purpose while I pretend
I’m not wretched. I’d write back
if I could avoid a paper cut,
but last time I had an
out of body experience
and I can’t moderate
for the life of me.

You’re looking at your hands
They’ve always been small
Your hands have always been small
And delicate
You’ve always sort of liked that.
You always felt special when someone pointed out
Your small hands.
When someone put their hand up
To compare their bulk size
To your mini fingers
Especially with red nail polish
You felt touched and taken care of
A little more. So small
They tell you how dainty your hands are
Your broken fingers
Delicate, dainty, deleterious.
But we grew out
People stopped caring about your hands
You need to stop looking down at them
Right now. You grew and you didn’t ask to.
You never wanted to be any bigger
You never asked for breath or your hands
Or even the color red.
Size your options up,
Ask your shrink about it
Take it day by day, they said.
Take what you need
Take what you need
Take you and me, for instance.