when i don't mean what I say
and my secrets mean nothing to the stars 
i slip myself out of your pockets;
rid myself from the burning capture of your looking glass
squinting eyes attempt to see the full picture
while my tired, achy feet glide barefoot across the floor beneath me

what is the distant memory 
further locked in mind over time?
a lazy-susan, mental prison that won't stop spinning
grips me dizzy,
loves me madly
Will i always be so thirsty?
Will i always be so distant from everyone who tries to love me?
Will my brain retrain my heart to stay intact?

what did life feel like at 3 feet tall,
with hands too small to fracture?
what will the sky taste like the moment I realize why it is I'm here?


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