Ripped off

I once heard Regina Spektor say, she was

“Aching to pupate,”

But here I am starving to

Be ripped apart

Evidently evicted from the flesh house that apparently makes up me,

Eviserated by you seeing my insides twisted out,

No more wrinkly fingers in the water,

No more full stomach or empty stomach

Or empty mind

Or screaming time,

My mind is a bunch of ticking clocks

All set up to make me feel, fail, flail

My box is inside,

Ready for you to open,

Will you put me back

Once the contents

Sink into your mirror?

Sinking into the pattern of a particular luminary

She’s shining like a bright white staring moon,

And I, a fraud, sitting in my dress

While I see myself looking in the water,

A masculine figure,

A tall red puppet drowning in lost torn up dreams, eyes too big, wide with too much fear—-

An actual nightmare.

I feel ripped off,

Torn off, a cell missing,

A detail creased and poignantly

Fringed, painted over

Your heart is still a lighthouse to me,

I seek out its perfect matching tide to follow.