i heard somewhere once that if you read a word enough times
it doesn’t seem like it is real anymore
relapse.
i want to be backyard bonfire, friday night football,
lit up small town, prom dress pretty
relapse.
i want to be afternoon strolls in the park,
wildflowers in teacup vases pretty
relapse.
i want to be rose quartz, smoky eye, red lip
1950s hollywood, broadway show queen pretty
relapse.
i want to be white gowns but not the kind from hospitals
relapse.
i want to have butterflies in my stomach but not the kind that make me puke
relapse.
i want to be west virginia mountains but not the kind my best friend’s first love wanted to jump off of
relapse
i want to be pastel paintings i, want to be poetry
i want to be remembered as more than the girl who dreams in holographic white noise
relapse.
i am tired of being glistening tears like the christmas lights hanging in my room
half burned out half glowing
relapse.
i want to be full
i want to be well
i want to be the opposite of everything i have ever been
relapse.
one day i will love everything about myself
and not hate that i can’t stop creating
when i feel like destruction.