my body, the hand grenade
my face, a poison
ugly crawls inside, makes a nest.
an animal chained in a cage,
my insect in a jar.
i spit out my ugly. it wasn't supposed to be this way.
life is a simple arrangement
of numbers and measures.
the bathroom mirror under florescent lights
is my sacred altar that i die underneath.
it is in fact nothing sacred,
but my fears magnified.
my fears that sprawl across the paper reflection.
my fears that become truths.
my broken, hungry child
i give her food, i take it away. i make her cry.
i bleed for her.
she swallows my ache and comes back for more.
she is always starving
for a love she will never digest.
