stop
stop
stop
when do we have the option
to turn off the nagging
the incessant uncertainty?
self-doubt was never presented as
something that expires;
yet we long for it to die.
just be strong
self-esteem
confidence
fortitude
boldness
all the same
lack of these is often presented
as a short-term problem of youth
fake it
till you
make it
never works
when i’m the only judge
Especially if I have an important meeting
I find myself lost down some rural highway
where an eighteen-wheeler is stuck
having bottomed out
trying to take an ambitious curve.
never burn your bridges
unless you intend on never coming back
they say
but what if that’s my intention
how much money would i have to save?
how could it be orchestrated?
would i succeed?
because if i failed
i burned them fucking bridges
and there’s no way back
not giving a two-weeks notice
keeping everyone in the dark
just saving
and then buying a plane ticket
and a home
planning out the whole thing
and then leaving
sometimes this is what i dream
i sit on the bank of a river
a gentle breeze blowing past
and i watch the bridges ablaze
shards of construction crashing into the water
and i hope i can make it
if i ever even try
An assertive breeze
Dislodges me from the cocoon of
This languourous summer sun and
Forces me to reassess
A different cocoon
One of my own construction
One that shields my frail constitution
From the daily threats to sanity
So rampant and commonplace
It’s as though they bloom and pollinate
In my mind, having always been there, waiting
For my attention
To activate
Like a shrewd spider’s eggs
Firmly planted on the back of a corpulent caterpillar
Who is none the wiser
Whose back will soon become a dinner table
Whose time has come
coiled three times around your neck, its shadows hinting at his bruises on your pale skin, at sunset purples faded years ago but fresh each time a would-be lover touches you in silent hope the laying on of gentler hands will finally prove healing. The doors are locked as you undress for bed, the incomplete house empty long before you sleep, but someone always watches as you dream.
The chambers of her heart
are illuminated in bright colors
blue-red-green
4 girls excitedly dancing
around the May pole
The gnashing of teeth
rings metallic in my ears
and the claws on the pavement
scrape like bone behind me.
I am sure that my chest
is going to combust,
but as of their own volition,
my legs keep pumping,
and I keep running.
They have hunted me
for years, these hounds.
And the farther I run,
the more furiously
they pursue,
licking their lips and
smacking their tongues.
They are made of shadow
and my own brand of darkness,
and when they snarl at me,
low growls ripping out of
monstrous chests,
the sound is a chorus
of “you will never be enough”
and “you are already too much.”
The whites of their eyes
are yellowed
like Pestillence,
their maws dripping red,
my red,
from every scar
on my arms and thighs
and they know
that help will never come
because
I am too afraid
to yell for it.
So I keep running
while they snap at my heels,
a little closer every time.
One day,
I will succumb
and they will take me,
but for now,
I will steel myself
and run.
Rusted metal shapes memory.
The radio tower collapsed at 5:45 am.
Transmission ceased from the spires
no blacksmith ever folded.
The writing in the sky
looks like clouds today.
There are teeth in the way, made of bad
ivory, bad thoughts. They impede
the mirror hiding in the mouth.
The mouth connects to the stomach and
it eats me up from the inside.
I can’t stand to be treated this way.
Yet I gobble the story, a glutton for
the sensation ‒ the feeling of being loved,
of being seen.
The feeling connects to the bones,
the bones to the directionless ire,
and I go blind with envy.
Way back when gluttony was a sin
Nobody took pride in being the best liar
Especially to themselves
Where did that idea come from?
Certainly not from here
Critical thinking is
Just too dangerous
The wrong feelings hurt
The wrong toes trampled
Better to cocoon and parrot
Than to lose friends never met
Better to be thankful to be dead
Than have to stomach someday
What has been wrought
By self-deception
