don’t get defensive, i’m talking to myself not you

the poem is in 3rd person, it's not about me, it's about her, the girl i stare at from the back of the bus.

stop taking it all so literally, fiction is the basis of my reality and my reality is more than a string of words, so in the end it's all just nonsense and meaningless lies.

cut the letters out of my skin, paste them on a classroom wall and i will still be whole. peel them off once the kids know their sounds and they will still have purpose.

i'm a body of skin and bones, human (as we like to call ourselves), if ink were to flow where my blood now lives i'd be dead in my chair.

keep my heart above ground by acknowledging its biology. only a mad man sees flesh and cuts it open with the sharp end of a pencil.