i am not human.

i am a shell – less turtle

without home and thus without heart

easily stepped on, easily crushed

my hair, relentless in pursuit of chaos

my eyebrows jagged peaks from which volcanic emotions erupt

my eyes boring holes without cause

my nose a clogged drainpipe

my smile a callous coldhearted thief

my hands bloody from fists entering tables chairs walls and faces not hers

but mine

my feet unyielding to concrete emotion

or maybe

i am not human.

i am a shriveled rock.

without substance, without strength

easily weathered, easily beaten

my hair always long inevitably curled ever hated

my eyelids closed

my eyes of salty lakes

my nose a tissue box

my smile merely sparkles in dark corners

my hands clenched to sides i know i did not have before

my knees on the floor, wishing to end it all

or maybe

i am not human.

i am a garden

without fault and thus without mistake

easily accepted, easily liked

my hair slicked back or forwards with gel or mousse or whatever i used this time

it doesn’t matter

my eyebrows locked into that questioning stare

my eyes inviting

my smile quite possibly perfect

my hands caressing your cheeks so dearly

my feet advancing forever forward

but never once

am i myself