it’s almost midnight and i’m almost human.
i look like one, talk like one, but the scars that paint my skin
prove that there is a monster living inside of me.
pieces of me have been taken by others:
by men, by boys, by mothers and by fathers, and now
i am composed more of the negative spaces left behind than the
tangibility of my body.
and so, the monster wants to force my exterior
to match the brokenness of my mind and try to mark me
with warning labels to make others stay away-
don’t get too close-
or you’ll see that i want to tear myself apart.
the bowl of humanity in my soul is
and being refilled with toxins,
overflowing with poison that wants to grow in the pieces of me
that have gone missing. those pieces that now belong to
it’s almost midnight. am i almost human?