poetry

the diversion

we contort and shift to hide ourselves
we code to protect
to shield
to armor

fleshy vulnerability gets smothered with faux nonchalance
a cold disposition of scoffs and eyerolls and jabs
meant to misdirect
because were ashamed

to be human
to be soft
to be flawed

we wall ourselves in
create echo chambers and chrysalises and cages
the barriers so thick we lose ourselves
and cant even remember how it felt

to be raw
and unfiltered
and free

*this poem was encoded and woven directly into the fabric of its companion piece of the same title

its not like its a secret

you see through the walls i've built of cellophane,

you see the tear stains on my flushed cheeks,

you hear the shake in my voice.

but still you say nothing.

in between the small talk i am screaming

I need you to hear me.

please hear me

i need someone to hear me

you do, but you turn a blind eye.

we say goodbye, we part ways.

you go home and make your frozen pizza

and i cry on huntington avenue

to be loved

i am unraveling.
pulling thread by thread to dissect what is in front of me
when i am finished, i will be left with a pile of
unrecognizable remains.

i am coming apart
there is no pull to create, no need to explore, no playful
energy left

i am depleted.
my creativity has blown away.
i’m left to chase it, to watch it flutter ahead,
just out of reach.

but what do i do when i run out of breath?

how can i shift to make what i’m left with fit?
what once was a tight, woven fabric is now warped and
scattered across the floor.

i will gather the pieces.

i will help them fit.

i am sewing myself back together.
the scaffolding around me will soon dissolve to reveal an
entirely new surface, but i am still me.

they say to be loved is to be changed.

i am showing myself love,
i am changing.