when I was 17

I ate a lot of gold caps by myself

I laid around my parents parsonage

wondering why I hated myself.

I broke most of the things I didn't like

I cried

maybe for the first time in years

I just wept.

I looked around at all the things I'd collected

how nothing adequated to wealth

I asked questions outside of myself

but found no help

I left welts on my body

scars on my hands

I shattered glasses just to feel

again.

this I figure

is what writing is for

exploring your

fears.

mirrors held up to our souls

simply

so we can see again...

indicative of limitlessness