the war on living

[m1serabl3_n_stunn1ng]

all the flowers in my room have died

i’m eating sprinkles from ziploc bags and sipping on cold coffee

this world is full of opportunities yet none of them are for me

i wish i was made from wire so i could be bent into shape

the shape somebody else wants me to be

because if somebody else makes me, me

then maybe i could be loved organically

systematically checking on scars and checking down boxes

check ups and check outs

paper hospital gowns that fit like latex gloves

i belong to my doctors, i belong to my friends, i belong to my family,

i’m wrapped up in my own split ends and tangled to the root,

stuck between

a fascination for causation and never ending lines

pharmaceutical buildings and the war on living.