Myself

I had ceased to recognize this person.

The weakness and drive to appease everyone.

Since when had destroying another person’s life deem one brave?

That is what they told me and I ate that hard-nubbed raspberry candy of comfort.

It was my biggest lie and largest truth.

This is where I bled myself out, as each day my fingertips laced the pages with poison,

And they greedily lapped up this saucered-milk like a bunch of starving cats.

So I handed over my voodoo needles with the promise of no assembly necessary; this wasn’t IKEA.

Owning each and every truth.

I was humble but faking it.

No longer willing to be a doormat and forsaking social class and grace.

My blood diamond exchange.

Being considered a good listener yet only waiting for my turn to speak.

Musicians reinvent to avoid extinction,

So I sent my life up in flames.

The charred ash flaked and settled down to the earth in clumps, reminiscent of fish food that has been exposed to the droplets of tank water.

The sexual beast.

The artisan.

The good girl next door.

The country girl.

The fucking saint.

This cycle of exhaustion is the very life source that I crave.

I require it all.

It’s me.

I want to share my experiences regarding this ugly stranger.

Yet no person will ever know all of me.

They don’t want to.

They’re waiting for their turn to speak.