When There Are No Words

When the world isn’t the way it’s
supposed to be
my head
– my mouth –
They aren’t either.

We spit up empty lies
– I’m just glad you said it
like it was –
and my thoughts
Shit,
I didn’t notice they
turned into my feelings.

I can swear as long as it’s a poem,
right?
This isn’t wrong
– I’ll tell you what is:
Everything.

Fucking life.

I would like to
(thankyouverymuch)
live a certain kind of lie.

I love being this thing
some would call “unique”
I love it,
but cut out the scene where
she dies of cancer.

Cut out the scars that
never faded
– cut them out with
a sterile needle
and paste in the credits, rolling
like this is just another damn dream.

Cut out the garbage
words like
“abuse”
“depression”
“intelligent”

I like being intelligent, but
sometimes I like it too much.

Cut out my heart –
Shit, hold up –
put it back inside
my hollow chest.

There’s no way anyone can
mend this sort of damage
– not with words, anyways –
and I thank God
that you said you wouldn’t try.

It’s not right to say things,
empty things.

It’s not right to compare who’s
worse off, because
we all are.

It’s not right to say I can’t grieve
as if I had
a fucking chance
to change all this.

You’re damn right in saying
that swearing is wrong.

But sometimes there are no words –
and when there are no words
I use them all.

M.
Mar 4/16
acrylic on canvas, Feb/16

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