pick your poison

I hate the words I wear on my sleeve so insistently

like I'm supposed to protect myself in cotton armor

I hate the words because most of them are not mine

I've borrowed them

or they were given to me

or maybe I stole them

from people who are no more significant

than leaves that I crunch under my feet

I hate my words because they are not like me

they are content to just be

I want my words to break jaws and

strike everyone down to their knees

so they don't know what to say or do but to look at me

in maybe love or fear or hate but

please just not insignificance

These words

they lock me into my ribcage

leaving my heart to beat against its prison

screaming I am more than just this

I watch her

her fists raising the skin of my breast

and I wonder if I'll ever find a way

to let her fall in love with 

the things she does

and the skin she's in

and the person she is

And I wonder if I'll ever find a word

to sum up who that woman is

and if I'll find the courage

to wear that weapon on my sleeve



Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741