Email Poem

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Poem

Severed breaths:
Inhale Dysphoria,
Exhale the Mania--
Pretend to pretend there is
An In-Between

Without crumpled, sweat-soaked bedsheets
Clutched to cover rib bones peeking out a bit further
Each daynightneverforever,
Their brittle little fingers threaten
Of perforating scribbled, paper canvas skin
(almost)
And Silences, so thick,
Are stuffed with tissues and White Noise--
Because nobody speaks;

Without fingerpaint walls
Where today's Magnum Opus blooms in bluepinkorangeredbrown
(Where tomorrow's Disapproval sits in wait),
Barefoot on a carpet littered with technicolor shreds 
of cut up shirts and pants and bras
Glue-sticked to shirts and pants and bras
Planting fleeting thoughts of fashion school in the wake
And of
Re-unalphabetizing the bookshelves.

Playing pretend is therapeutic--
Cognitive-Behavioral therapy said so.

"If you pretty please pinkie promise
To swallow and say 'ahhhh'
Instead of spitting it out again
(like you wish to purge your bitterly dissolving Soul)
Nobody will be urging you to tear your own throat out
(Anymore).

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