I’m tired.
Of passing through people
that I have to
with a smile, lie to.
I’m tired.
Of saying I’m good
so many times,
it’s gotten sad.
And I’m reckless now.
I’ve been setting fires around my
hometown since last night.
If I am to leave here, then I want no
portions of myself to get left behind.
What does it say about me;
that the source of my anger has
always been impossible to point out,
and risky to ask about?
What does it say about me;
that my eventual doom to fade into
obscurity excites me?
And I’m unbothered now.
That my recognition is gradually
becoming like a frayed thread.
That beneath the weight of these eyes
looking in my direction with affection,
I falter and demand excavation.
And that I’ve decided to settle for
having faith, instead of dealing with
my fears.