Poetic doodles


I feel like glass.
Anyone can see
the cracks.

I shove my heart
like a cotton ball
into a bottle
full of aspirin,
to cover them up.


I am a canvas
begun out of
borrowed patches.

An unfinished blanket
ever growing with
new patterns.

Work in progress

I am not a dot,
I am a line, swinging
up and down every day.

I'm shaped by detours
my life takes
between the milestones.

I am never complete,
never just a goal
in a plan.

Not enough

I called my body fat,
feeding it years
of daily fears
and unrest.

I called my body weak,
rushing through
rough roads
and higher dreams.

I called my body not enough
just for being
one perfect piece
of an imperfect me.