rainbow froyo

when I think, I think I'm 40

when I feel, I feel

I'm certain my heart is a newborn's.

like I'm too sensitive to be this old

like I'm too young to hurt this much.

I'm a poet and an exorcist,

a martyr and a terrorist

look away, don't say,

I already know you hate me for it.

I know you can't pack it

in your claustrophobic skull,

filled to its brim with 

idealized excuses of abuse,

and sure, it's hard to be you,

but it's hard to be me too.

I love you to bits

and you've opened my eyes,

showed me that I can be exposed

and overlooked at the same time.

every scar on my body,

a brush stroke on a canvas,

they're all testimony

as to how I've handled this,

but you're so clear and pure

you cannot fathom how it is

to live for perfection

and still be so useless.

I'm not strong enough

since I fail when I try

or maybe just more so 

because every time I survive.

and if I leave a letter,

know that it's meant for you,

pink and red lipstick kisses,

"what else was there to do?"

if I could go back and start again,

I'd end this madness

before it even began

so don't give me that look,

what else is there to say?

against the wall behind me,

blown away.