I am tearing at the seams-
an unkempt doll with ragged edges
shifting from wooden foot
to foot, uncomfortable without skin.
I asked you to stop looking
if you refuse to see
exactly how I’ve hardened
while waiting to be free.
I have stayed here far too long
watching you watch me change
from this messy broken doll
to a real and normal girl
with the wrong realities.
I know now I am falling
from the strings I had to cut
fixed into place with stitching
by the girls you turned to dolls
before you came for me.



What an unimaginable feat of accomplishment:
to strive and have, but to live for naught.
When sad moments of reality breach the dam’s capacity,
then overflow into the fantasy of what might have been,
there is a strange area of not “being”, now a part of the epiphany.
Were I to jump from here to the past, unable to wish for anything other than this,
accepting a journey I had no expectation for– losing faith in words;
becoming something I could never have thought to be,
a certain version of me: a person of long, slow thinking.
Why would my faith waiver now?
As I stumble upon false promises for a future I never wanted.

White Noise

On the edge of an ocean I sit–
soaking up white noise,
crashing waves,
seeping silence
into old bones,
too weary for this body.
At your feet I begged,
but only deaf ears
and blind eyes
turned to this broken world–
I still sit in the midst of youth.