remembered my meds;
didn't clear my head.
still thinking of you,
tempted by the blue
overdose by one or two
hundred, something to do.
maybe the pink;
she'll make me think
of nothing at all,
be as blank as a wall,
still as a statue and twice as calm
as i used to feel tracing hurt on my arm.

The water looks like a bubble
small enough for ants to carry
while ensnaring teeny tiny Ellenya,
which is very scary for her.

Her screams are smaller than fleas.
Her pleas are lighter than an atom,
but no can hear her.
No one comes near her.
Her small stature
does not match
her elegance and kind nature.

I’d beg you be careful
where you step
but she’s barely a spec
that will be swallowed
by some random ant.

you are paper,
let yourself be crumpled,
and then tell me stories
about your creases, your scars;
memories living in jars

tell me how it hurt
to be molded impetuously
because you still feel pain
when your wrinkles look like veins,
fragile streaks of vulnerability
flowing within you,
all over you,
and i will tell you
that i could not care less
if you are a mess of crooked roads;
if you are no longer like the others
devoid of folds
because these folds define you,
and the others do not crumple
in the same way as you do

you are paper,
skinned from nature
let yourself be written,
and then tell me stories
about yourself, your tales
without ever having to use a pen

I watched you fall
and start to crawl
staring up at that
old boring brick wall
wondering how
you will ever
be able to climb over
the top of
that orange towering
obstruction.
You never stopped
to see that if you
wanted to continue
your journey
you could just walk around it.