the complaint scroll of a faceless, feetless thing

i am a faceless, feetless thing.

i can't do anything about that.

nobody knows my face and i have no feet to leave footprints.

//mid-air_floating_haunting_bloating//

you think of all the pretty proper perfect poems

i used to write

you think this is one of them.

i won't disagree.

but see your helplessness:

i dramatize everything.

and you read it.

i dramatize grief,

because there's guilt that i didn't even

feel half the pain i did

when people died than

when i wrote about their death clearly.

you don't think twice before blurting

questions. don't think twice if they're hurting.

you want pretty proper perfect endings.

you see, you want me to write

even if i write about

blank moons

glass faces

honey eyes

ramping rain

roaring trains

stars who never asked to be in your crap

your mothers who have been tired since forever

and fathers too, wanting to be acknowledged once in a nap.

all sunshine and positivity

how does it feel to be spoon-fed hope, you ask?

it's like eating eggs with their shells.

oceans and waters and trees and fires and nail polishes.

it's as if all the bad bad overused clichés found only your head to concentrate in large gatherings.

(where are their masks though?)

and so you see,

you want me to write

without caring if i

want help

or need help

or i'm being forced help.

//my voice comes out through my eyes.

it's unpleasant. hotter than steam.

but my voice comes out through my eyes

because i have sealed my lips with liquid wax//

you want this. you want that.

you want my throat, not caring if i have one. you want to grab my face and place my ankles on that dirty shelf in your drawing room and

once in the sick moon that your planet has,

remark:

"we have this masterpiece. we own her."

and those little people will sip that oversweet tea and smile politely. they're helpless too, but a different creed, you know.

//mid-air_floating_haunting_gloating//

but let me break your wishes.

i will vomit on your 'feeds'

with

all i have ever known or hope to know or want to know or will never know.

i will place it in front of your obsessive self

so you can see me for me.

because i don't care

because you don't care.

i am a faceless, feetless thing.

and so, this poem will not have an ending you'll want to remember.

//mid-air_floating_haunting_//