For all the times when my body wasn’t mine, Please remember I was just a vessel, A pathway to something better. I had room to grow, I was still this cookie dough That legends talk about. All I could do was Resist and pout. Now I’m not better, And I’m not worse either. I’m the same vessel, With a little more stuff in me. I still have room to grow, And will probably do so Until there’s no more room left. Then this vessel won’t be as deft, And things will spill, And that’ll no longer be a skill. Spillage becomes louder, Spillage becomes death. Spillage becomes chowder, That’s when I’ll lose my breath.
All of the bangs I’ve had
They weren’t loud,
They weren’t tasty,
They weren’t mornings,
Nights and dreams,
They dissipated
Without disrupting,
They left a shadow
Without leaving marks,
They left a traces
Without leaving a scar.
All of the bangs
They didn’t give me power,
They didn’t give me pushes,
Love and gushes,
They gave me bitterness
And loneliness,
Without giving me a safe space.
They gave me wars
Without winning a battle,
They gave me sorrow
Without winning me a smile.
They gave me everything but me,
And everything but you.
I have a habit
where I love you so much,
I stare into your eyes
and they’re so deep,
and yet you never liked them,
and then I have another habit
of dreaming of you,
but loving me more,
and these two loves keep fighting each other,
and only one will win.