I’m so tired
of putting on a fake face
holding my tongue
talking shit to my damn self.
My bruised brain boxing, battling
demons deep in my consciousness.
I want to close my eyes and
conjure tulips, the scent of seas of lavender
not the stabs of rotten dried-up curmudgeons.
Stop squatting in my cerebrum.
My forehead is tight and it hurts to create.