by Kashawn Taylor
no longer can i survive
on bitter caffeine and self-hatred topped
with old-fashioned determination sprinkles
keenly aware that my eyes lie, that what
i see is / not me
what I see is not me
but i can’t help
that sometimes eating’s a chore
& i’d rather do anything
other than masticate and swallow
anything else like hammer
nails through my palms
or inhale charred crumbs of cancer
to incinerate those hot pangs
until the smoke and fire
fills my head and i become
unpredictable, a rabid homo
sapien, the most foul
of wild beasts, but what
you see is / not me
what you see is not me
no longer can i abide
choking on my fingers
when my housemates snore
to counteract wanton lack
of self-love / control by day,
avoiding memories and mirrors
for fear i won’t wrap myself
in my arms the way my grandma did
when i was a child and naïve
for fear i will pick
pick
pick
until what’s left of my temple
shines like ruins under crystal moonlight
shattered glass still sparkles sometimes
broken pieces made me
no longer can i conflate
tears with shower water
emptiness with joy
morning skinny / happiness
fullness with war
to drag myself through life
afraid to bite / forced release
acutely aware
what i see is / not me