machine

machine

the center of my chest ticks.
I have a heart
and didn’t have to ask the man
behind the curtain for it.
some don’t see it
as they should.
or worse yet
some do and take advantage.

I smoke too much
and cuss too much.
we all have our vices
at least mine only hurt myself.
speaking of which,
the secrets you keep
will bring an undoing of sorts.
we all have them.
ask yourself, are they worth it?
my answer is no.

I drink coffee for breakfast and lunch.
I should be thin by now.
if I were would I be pretty enough?
some think I’m beautiful
and say so.
I smile and say thank you.
I tuck their words into my pockets
for a day when
I can’t look at myself
in the mirror.

these hips are too large for my taste,
they serve no purpose now.
only flesh to grab onto.
and that feels like a knife,
cutting slowly, so the blood has time to clot.
the wounds will be opened again
when I least expect it.