I don’t know what.
Or, rather—
the matter of fact: why?
Am I pretending?

A pretty dosing,
imposing
i'mposter syndrome
in stolen lip gloss and rope burns.

Don’t ask me to put on these masks.
I’m done with it.

Every thought is scrutinized.
Every meal, a moral panic.
“Every time I eat another animal, you spank my *** hard.”
(Not that I want to eat an animal
every time I want a spanking—
no.
But I do want a spanking.
And not the guilt buffet.)
Mind: Reported.

"*******"
Mind: Swagger.

Am I my brain’s pet?
Or is it mine?

Russes
is a nice dog name.

Am I becoming a killing machine?
No.
I’d have to work out more.
That’s extroverted thinking.

Inside?
What are you?

An amoeba.
Shapeshifting.
Gelatinous.
Unapologetically not solid.

Enough!
You are dead!

Come on,
I’m not wallowing—
I just want to cry
after so long
in *******
with no aftercare.

I miss you so much, Bubba.

I am
a ******* *******.
I feel
maniacal.

Do you know
you can give yourself a hug?
It feels so good.

I’m asking,
“What’s that you do again?”

A shirt.
Curiosity outweighed my fears.
Isn’t there a cat
who got killed because of it?

I met a woman
Who taught me
How to find someone
I used to be

Neighbors are arguing

I am uncomfortably

Smoking a cigarette

Trying not to listen to them

Trying instead to focus on this podcast

About militarized police

And how democracies end

It started with
a dimming of the light
to slow my breathing.

to stop my thoughts
to barricade
to blame.

To never look myself in the eye
but in the mirror see
an empty body
surrounding me.

To fail in every role of mine
fulfilling my own prophecy.

Then rip out my heart
for the empty heavens
the cruel blue sky,
the mocking clouds.

Finally to poison
shake and starve
Regurgitate shame
from volcanic guts
to porcelain.

Last to fall on
laminate floor
till the little dog wakes
from  the award of dreamless sleep
because one of us is
hungry.

I tried meeting you where you stood,
made silence feel like something good.
I kept on folding just to cope,
called it patience, called it hope.

I bent so far I lost my shape,
Adjusting to the mood you made.
Held space for you, but not for me —
kept calling strain a kind of peace.

You brushed off things I said were deep,
then blamed me when I couldn’t sleep.
I swallowed truth to keep you still —
but I’m not choking on your will.

I won’t turn off my own desires,
or play it cool to keep things calm.
I’m done setting myself on fire,
just to keep on keeping you warm.

There’s an outfit for each kind of day,
one for work, and one to play.
One for silence, one for charm —
I dress to keep their peace from harm.

I match their tone, their pace, their cue,
become the me they’re walking through.
A shifting shape, a face that fits —
but never quite the one that sits.

I dress in layers not for style,
but just to wear a safer smile.
A thousand looks, a thousand designs —
but none align with what’s in mine.

And every mirror looked back at me
But none of them knew who to be
I learned to read the room so well,
I lost the voice I used to tell.

But fabric wears, and so did I,
the cost of always living shy.
I’ve worn their sizes, played their part —
let fashion hide a restless heart.
But now I pull the stitching tight —
and walk in clothes that finally fit right.