Poems from Her Cluttered State of Mind

Six Over Five

They said the smell of lavender is calming.

So I took the wash cloth and used the lavender body wash that's been sitting on the corner of the sink,
washing away everything; the cloth gliding on all the folds of my flesh, wishing the storm inside me to go away.

Outside, it was calm but inside, everything was bubbling with hatred.

How I wish the sweet, sweet smelling bubbles carried my anger down the drain.

But it didn't.

It was the kind of anger that was reserved; controlled but not at all contained.

Maybe because it wasn't for you, maybe because it was directed to me.

For I am five feet tall but my self-hatred is six.

For my every venomous word, the poison comes back to me.

Maybe because I was a metaphor for what I've said:

That flowers are pretty but it was depressing to watch them wilt and rot.

Maybe it was me, a flower you used to adore and loved, lived in a crystal vase, to be admired.

But soon lost its beauty, and wilted and rotted, and turned the water underneath grimy.

My thoughts are its thorns and I pricked myself.

What I need is love, and not your pity.

I will never be good enough.

I will never love myself.

For I am five feet tall but my self-hatred is six.