i often feel suffocated by the 

monotony of every other day

i am trapped between two bookends on the

dusty shelf of life smiling for display 

i want to take a grater to my arm

and make a zest from the pink of my skin

to garnish the red tinged salt water warm

around my ankles leaving a pink rim

against the white of the bathtub maybe

then i could make some more room in my brain

or finally feel more than just empty 

i try to write about all of my pain

but i can’t fit my feelings in my own mind 

let alone cram them into fourteen rhyming lines