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Day 21 of #instawrimo is favorite book. And I can’t pick just one. I also forgot to throw my favorite vampire books on the pile.
he says I shouldn’t make any rash 
decisions when I’m like this. 
when I’m in this state. 
this pool of ebony, 
this wilted tear.
 I know he’s right. 

I know I don’t know myself most days. 
is the manic the true me? 
the buzzing hornets’ nest of a girl 
I see staring back from the mirror? 
I don’t know. 

I don’t know why he chooses this love.
 he says he doesn’t know 
if he can ever be happy. 
he chooses the wrong women. 

I don’t take offense, 
because I am each of those women. 
wrong & spelling everything 
with a somber flair. 

I think he likes it 
& hates himself for his wants.
 who are we these days? 
fragments—
fortunate on the surface ,
rotting inside. 

I think I like my rash decisions.
 lose focus on this massacre 
long enough to cover the bodies,
 long enough to cover us up 
with the only bandaid I know ,
& you will see who I am.

 we are much sadder in poem form. 
we are much more palatable in person.
CUSTOM POETRY SALE
I become a missing person 
in the middle of conversations. 
I'm not interested in your 
story unless your
face frowns at the exact moment
mine falls. 
Someone stole my light so
 now I sneak into your
heart to snatch yours. 
I shove it in my ebony eye holes
 & pray that it'll stay. 
Please,
 I implore you,
look inside my insides.
Do you see ink
where crimson 
should roar?
 Is the sea inside 
my belly black as night?
 I admit,
 I don't know who I am, 
anymore.
from Tell Me Where It Hurts
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