Myself

I hate to write the words I love
I have so much to say so, I shut my mouth
I find pride and joy from my looks
I get drunk on sugar to keep cheerful
I’m made of fire
quenched by fire
I brew heat
So, I easily melt the ice from cold words that crack my heart
letting the water dilute my blood
stealing the strength from my bones
I am a pretty, new book
I promised to write carefully in with a flourish
But I find illegible scribbles on whatever page they find themselves
I’m a pen rich with ink
I dry up or I overflow
I’m content until I’m not
The girl with the chin raised high, words bold
Hand squeezing hand as blood freezes over
Neat handwriting, pressed clothes, gleaming shoes
Yet, fighting for space in a room flooding with all and sundry
I’m a poem written with love and confidence
But too scared to let you read
I love the trick of putting the flaming stick in mouth
So, I blow out my fire and try the trick
I’m not the one in the mirror, I’m the one before it
Or maybe, I’m not the one before the mirror, but the one in it
This is me; the mattress with the torn cover
Beneath layers of fine sheets
I love the rain, I hate the wet
I want the stars, I fear the dark
I hope for a perfect picture
I’m the only girl who can’t pose
I hate others, I love myself
I hate myself for hating others
I love myself for hating myself for hating others
Damn niceties, I tell you how it is
Then carry my guilt all day like a stab in the heart
Finding love, living long; those are my earnest prayers
But I dread old age
And affection wearies me
I choose the warmth, take your sun
I love my hair, I love my wig
I want to be someone
I am someone
I must be… something

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