Difficult days

There are difficult days;
days I do not want to open my eyes
but I do anyway,
shower, put on clothes,
throw a small smile when I meet people
& hope they miss the emptiness
of the simplest gesture-
the way I’m programmed to appear
like I’m not always falling apart

you see, there are many difficult days;
days where bile rises at the back of my throat
when I look at myself in the mirror
& I recognize myself less,
what same set of features, but a different skin-
red, angry & peeling off
at the edges

The other day I cut my hair off,
held the strands loosely in one hand
and scissor away with another-
resentments falling off to the floor
in bunches,
& I bawled afterwards,
all the light felt heavy-
and a special kind of sad

These are difficult days;
days I lie alone in bed all day
& wonder if my body will settle down,
if it would stop fighting itself,
If it would stop hurting

all by itself.


here to serve some passive aggressive poems

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