You can't possibly judge what you dont understand.

That's what's most safe.

I can't fix the fixable therefore I cannot fix myself.

I can't finish the manageable, which in turn reflects on my unfinished mental traumas.

I am stuck in a frantic place between acknowledging my shortcomings and berating myself for them.

In these dreams my family knows you

And you look at me as if I matter

Your blue eyes drowning out the unnecessary sounds

Finding a calm despite my pratter

In my dreams you smile beside me

You take my hand wherever we roam

I show you the town I left in a hurry

You show me your flowers back home

In a world of incomprenension

Spoken word should bring clarity

Though we only talk like this when we're drunk

Forgetting it all soon entirely.

In a world of so many choices

Of faces ive seen by the hundreds

Why does you still show up in my dreams

I see your pictures of the nice fancy farm and realize why you never invite me along

Id be a thorn in your side and a blow to your pride

when they start to calculate the years between you and I.

They'd whisper and question without a moment of refrain,

because look theres Kerry showing up with that redheaded hurricane.

They'd call you a groomer.

They'd call me a fraud.

A gold digging loser or a scandalous broad.

Oh no my dear man, you mustn't bring me along.

Id rather sit alone than near you with my lack of confidence squealing.

You prefer hair thats longer, saying it looks more feminine, so if i were to make my self unattractive to you, thats where I would begin.

Take the scissors and let the locks fall. Taking with them the obsession of coming running when you call.

If I knew you found me ugly I'd no longer try, I wouldnt overthink every sly glance, every prolonged goodbye.

I could chop it off tomorrow and probably feel so very free.

Free from my irrational admiration

Someday ill be willing and able to accept the love given freely by someone else because ill have discarded my obsession over trying to impress you.

I can love you as much as I do and still recognize the destructive nature of my feelings for you.

I can love you and accept the fact that you will never love me in the same way and that has to be alright.

It has to be alright.

He doesn't even like skinny women,

He's more into curvy women anyhow.

All of the meals I skipped in preparation to see him.

Rotting away my body positivity till all I can stomach is this flavorless taste of being thin.

My clavicles poke out.

With hip bones that match.

All the days I spent casting my line

Id be a thorn in your side and a blow to your pride

when they start to calculate the years between you and I.

They'd whisper and question without a moment of refrain,

because look theres Kerry showing up with that redheaded hurricane.

They'd call you a groomer.

They'd call me a fraud.

A gold digging loser or a scandalous broad.

Oh no my dear man, you mustn't bring me along.

Your laughter a sermon i long for on Sunday mornings.

The way you say my name could usurp the tabernacle.

Your hands wrapped in my hair, the sin at my confessional.

Biting the flesh of your shoulder given freely.

The shame of the penance. The punishment from guilt.

The retribution of making your bed our sanctuary

They're all dead.

This mother shaped hole in my heart aches with every beat.

An entire side of my family, all relocated to the highland memorial gardens neighborhood.

She's dead.

The home that every child is born to.

The one they're supposed to be able to rely on.

The hurricane force winds that would be dealt to those inflicting pain upon me. Silent. Still.

They're all dead.

I will add the table leaf so there's more room for shame.

Choosing the finery to distract from the blame.

Combinations of plates and saucers bounce around in my head,

Clanking over the sound of me screaming, "EVERYONE'S FUCKING DEAD".

I only have these Belgian dishes with gold edges that mock because I'm also a regular at the cemetary,

my kin live around this little block.

Set the table and place the flowers properly

Drag out your cutlery and stress over imagined mockery.

I will sit here at this table with my shame and grief abounded