tethered

packing

and if i could tell you
that how you see yourself
is not how i see you,
i would.
but your eyes are closed to my reality,
the gap between them too wide
in your humble opinion
for me to reach across and
open them.
but if you could see what i see, or they see
in the freckles on your skin
dot to dot, let me in
then maybe you would not be quite so cold
towards the girl in the mirror.

and if i could tell you
that you are your own worst critique,
of everything unique
like the smudge on your wrist, a gift at birth
the colour of earth, i would. you were made by her
to be strong, to be big, to be bold
so please, do not fold
yourself away into nothing but a bundle of criticism
packed neatly in a box.

and i will tell you that
the cardboard will fade and shrivel and fold
use tape just to keep a hold
on the point where your thighs meet, or
the scar on your skin
locked in to this prison hand crafted by you,
you have the knife to cut it away grasped
in your bleeding palm
but there's the alarm, self destruction
is your mechanism
and the only reason you open the box is to place more in it.

i keep mine in the attic of my mind
collecting dust, collecting
anything but the truth that maybe
if i loved myself a little more
and packed a little less
it would be okay.

i can't blame you.