Pity-Party

By: Isabelle Morgan

Self-pity has found me

Then there’s the eyes

The green spies

How am I supposed to

I can’t finish while she’s watching

Why does the length of my hair

Change the way that they stare

One side cares

And the other wouldn’t dare

I miss the protection 

Curly assumed identification 

I was born without a birthday

A holiday swallowed it

And you

How

Irrationally

Irresistibly

Intoxicatingly

Angry you make me

By simply doing nothing

Well, it isn’t nothing

By exhaling the scent 

Of an artist in bloom

I fucking fantasize 

Yearn to be in the rooms 

You have diffused

So your aroma can 

absorb into my skin

But

I stand here

And you tower there

One pretending not to stare

And the other is completely unaware

But fuck

I have dissolved into damn excuses 

You spew and I admire the view

Desire and hate chase through 

The veins of my dehydrated body

Fuck you 

For not ending my addiction 

 for giving me a hit

To portion off until I am nothing

Smile,

Ms. Lie

Pity Party

A self-infliction