I don’t know what to say

For so many reasons

Because

My words aren’t enough

My words are too much

My thoughts are too complex

My thoughts are too simple

I think too much

But about the wrong things

And I’m suffering 

So that you don’t have to

But I’m so very tired of carrying

The pain that isn’t mine 

My words can’t explain these things

So I stomp all over my feelings 

And try to pour you a glass of it

Maybe someday you’ll have a taste 

A savoring sip

Maybe then you’ll understand

But by then

I’ll be gone

Not

I have been given

All the room to breathe

So why in the fuck 

Am I not breathing?

Towering

Running out of time

To make it up to you 

Running out of space

To move these mountains

Always sprinting

Then pausing to catch air

And wondering if maybe

A consistent pace would go further

But time is running out

And you’ll never know 

Never ever know

That everyday I choke on these words

They drown me in their desperation 

To get through my sewn lips

They catch on my teeth 

So I chew on them 

And swallow them down for another day

Space is dwindling

And these words have become 

A towering mountain 

Of my own construction 

Can’t

I can’t even find the words

That fit these feelings. 

No word seems good enough,

Descriptive enough. 

Why does sadness not have a superlative?

Bees

Getting stung by a bee is cute

Until 10 more show up 

And your face swells

And your breathing stops

And you collapse

Watching the puffy clouds

Begin to darken at the edges

Until it all goes black 

And you’re dead. 

Then 

It’s not so cute. 

Beauty Breaks

There seems to be a societal standard 

For women to run households

And to society 

That means total control 

No emotion out of place

No dust on the mantel 

Perfectly manicured nails

Social media a carefully curated museum 

Meant to display only happy 

Fake comments like, “You have a beautiful family” 

Are the only acceptable response. 

To this I say:  

Fuck that 

I want to see the ugly 

The dirt under your fingernails

The imprint of the lego on the ball of your foot

The greasy hair in a messy bun 

The endless hours of work to pay the bills

And the countless hours spent driving to sports and daycare and schools

And most importantly

The breakdowns in between all of that

There is beauty in the breakdown

There always has been 

Not in curated instagrams

But deep within your madness 

No one is inspired 

By perfection