On the surface, I look fine.

Swallowing emotion and putting on a face,

the fastest and most reliable reflex I have.

 

All you need to do is dig,

just a little bit,

to see that it’s all one big shell.

So why hasn’t anyone

figured it out yet?

 

Can I be more than this?

A hard shell,

with crumbling and rotting

scaffolding

holding it all together.

 

Statues don’t speak

and neither do I

Worried about feelings

Worried about what is appropriate

 

Wanting to kill yourself is never appropriate

 

How can existing be what gives me purpose?

When there are so many who want to

throw it all away.

myself included.

in some capacity.

 

Am I really to believe, even now,

Still inebriated and afraid

That I am just as you made me?

 

All my heavenly uniqueness, expressed in worldly ways

All my weakness, the pathway to your strength.

Please…