How to Self Destruct

What It Is I'm Choking On

I always wake up at the good part of my dreams,

the part where I'm about to beat the bad guy,

get the girl, and the day is beautiful,

or at least that's what I assume happens

after my eyes open and I'm back in this body,

about to put on my smile to face the day.

On some days, I bask in the sunlight like a flower,

soaking in the energy like a power source

to grow bigger and breakable

like a mirror, on the days I can't stand in the sun

without feeling like it's reminding me of what I am missing.

I don't ever claim to be an easy person,
or a person at all, in fact,

I would describe myself as hundreds of little anxieties

stacked on top of each other, a comical imitation

of human. I don't know if knowing

that is supposed make it any simpler of an existence.

Touch for me is a weird thing.

There's so few things I crave so much but also fear,

like love or intimacy or anything that requires

being seen. I'm trying to get over this, but I don't

think it's an obstacle so much as a reality.

I wonder if accepting that makes it okay.

I ask myself a lot of questions that I can't answer,

like when did I become so uncomfortable in my thoughts

or why can I open myself up but never for others?

I sit with these, write them down, mull them over,

and, every time, just find myself with a lump in my throat

and an empty page.