Friday July 6, 2018
In the Dermatologist’s Office, Again
I want to tell them I don’t hate them that I love them that I need them
I want to tell them that they hurt me that they weren’t me that I am them
I want to write it in a letter snail mail send it
Write it on the mirror in red lipstick
Call Them on the phone and sing a prayer of sorry
Meet Them in the park and hug them full of thank you
I want to tell them that they’ve helped me that they’ve shaped me that they’ve held me
Tell them that they’ve known me that they’ve shown me that they’ve stoned me
That they’ve made this soft centred M&M melt that they’ve crunched my hard shell easy that they’ve pressed too hard on my bruises and buttons
I want to tell them that I’m not going anywhere.
That I’m big.
That I’m growing.
I want to tell them that the sea is going to swallow them up and they should let it.
I want to tell them who I am.
I want to tell them I’m the sea.