Writing

It is midnight and I am getting a haircut on the lawn.

I am tired, but I shiver with excitement.

Gentle hands tug and snip at my curls,

And as they fall they take root in the grass.

When I was little I had a big pack of friends. The big kids did once too, and they romped along the streets of our town.

I made tea this morning.

I put the leaves in, watching the steam dance with childlike wonder.

I returned to my laptop, staring at a half finished chapter, the bags under my eyes more apparent than ever.

my leg is a rotting log and i am stumps

i am stumps which are crawling with the little maggots

the little white slimy maggots which are crawling under my skin

Do I know the subtle, the shallow things in life? 

Or is it merely my destiny forever to be seeking 

That which is not ours to see?

At parties I sit quiet and calculate my words

I avoid the eyes of guys and stare at my phone. 

After all that hiding, 

dissatisfaction feels like heartburn,