I say too little, too much or nothing at all,
simply because I feel and overthink
too deeply, for better or worse.

Words keep falling from my mouth
like loose pocket change, rarely
worth enough to make a change.
I still make wishes on everything
— shooting stars, 11:11, fallen
eyelashes, tunnels, dandelions.
Anything to make me feel like a
fragment of anything worth
something. Just a little more alive,
in a world that can make me feel
everything but. In a world that can
make me feel trivial and small.
But we all are, when we’re living
on a giant mass of a rotating disaster.
It’s equally thrilling and terrifying,
to the point of making you feel like
disappearing and separating yourself
from anything capable of judgment
and hurt. Which is everything.
Sticks and stones may break your
bones, but words are what wreck
havoc and leave scars on your soul.

We’re all messy — broken in one way
or another, have been displaced and
just trying to get by. You’re lying
if you say otherwise. I’m going to
chop myself down and replant my roots
in soil surrounded by all the hardened
hearts I can find. Maybe then we can
learn how to soften and sweeten
one another, to grow into something
bigger and stronger. Because I’ve
grown tired, smaller and weaker,
from everything around everyone
turning rough and bitter.

Being under construction is under
appreciated. Thank you for your patience.