Dreadful 

How pretty it must feel to have a silent mind amid the chaos. 

When your eyelashes can bat in innocence and guilty pleasure

& your skirt a little higher 

& your shirt a little longer

How pretty it must feel to have a heart that beats when people are watching. 

When your eyelashes are wet and your eyes are full

& your bed sheets messed around

& your clothes folded facedown, resting 

How pretty it must feel to be able to communicate your feelings. 

When your mouth curves up and spills your secrets

& your mind a little naughtier 

& your pills a little more scattered

How awful it must feel to have a mind awake in the dark 

And cycles rewind, neverending yet always predictable.

How awful it must feel to see the slow- witted reach the peaks 

And never fall or tumble.

How awful it must feel to be deficient, inadequate 

Where they all say they will come but a ghost comes to dance instead.

How beautifully dreadful it is to be a human

Where you look left and right and see others and not know their names

Or their stories

And yet be aware of their movements, of their inventories.

just remember you’re pretty awful but just the same awfully pretty

So be careful with those sheets, those pills, and memories.

Replace it with that tunnel she showed you of neverending remedies. 

-jt