Yolk

Swollen brain, pulsing to be
everything I hate,
forgets
that you have a monopoly
on mental illness.
You--
candy floss hair;
biggest eyes,
milk chocolate
and over-sweetened--
grasp at the thought,
sprinkled and dazzling,
but you won't
forgive me.
The core of me
gave every piece of advice
I could muster,
small cookies
hot and sugary.
I gave you the last one
when you decided
it wasn't ample for you.
If only I loved you enough
to give you everything,
every morsel of myself.
My swollen brain cracks
into a big white bowl,
sits on the counter,
sulphurous and cursed.

Intermezzo

Your helpful idiot, 

your side character,

has been losing sleep.

The food pantry was closed.

No more pasta.

No more torn shirts pulled over

sweaty sports bras,

rushing to get some place 

shameful--

cinder block building

of my dreams,

cool concrete

for my tired body.

I'm tired of being angry

but I'm tired of explaining,

of explaining a wet face

that you've spit upon.

Your helpful idiot

is going

back to bed.

Astrology

That feel when
you have
so much
air and water
in your chart
that you do not know
if you'll sink or swim
or float
like an aimless cloud
carried by mistakes

Resolutions

maybe this year
my bed will become
less inviting.
there are curves,
but no muscle,
giving
without letting go.
maybe this year
I'll add
a few more pills
to my diet,
crunch down on chalk
that adds balance
but no nourishment.
friends have cozier
resolutions:
finish this degree,
lose this bellyfat,
get a new job,
but my resolution
leaves me feeling
less than resolute.
less than.
I want fewer days in bed.