I’d give you my heart if I could
I’d literally rip it out with my bare hands

I like to write
my name
on a piece of paper
over and over
again
until it’s messy enough that I forget who I am

erasing the edges, smudging it out until my identity is nothing but a fast blur;
something
that could only be notices if you were looking for it-
something
you would probably be disturbed to find anyways

Like when you’re driving and you see an animal on the side of the road
and you have to pull over because it’s your third week of being a vegetarian
and you almost have to force yourself to cry about it, but not quite

Or when you’re cleaning your room and you find that old wooden box
you put your earrings in when you were five years old
and now you’re almost four times the age you were at that time
and you find those earrings, but there’s only one of each so you put on mismatched ones
and cry yourself to sleep because you’re missing parts of you that you thought would
always be there

"Mama said there’ll be days like this, there’ll be days like this, my mama said”

On the messy days I like to forget who I am and pretend I’m still who I used to be.