All That's Wrong with Me

It sings like a kettle in the off-tint of my skin
and the awkward timbre of my honest words
which, to you, are hollow, like sunken ships.
I never believed in the vessel of my emotion
and you never believed in me.

When we lie, curled up in each other's ideas
it's that I can't live up to your eyes' mirror
or contain your tide's rage. You capsize me
and I am a tiring balloon, weathering storms I
cannot hope to predict.

You cling tight to me. Penitent, desperate.
It's that I'm not strong enough to sever
myself. If I am your life ring then you serve as bait
which I worry away at until my gums are bleeding
and we are both red-raw with tears.

The End

1,154 comments about this poem Feed