Stolen | poem
I’m not crying;
These eyes aren’t mine.
I stole them from a man who has depression.
You can try to fill gaps with laughter,
Or diffuse synapses with sugar,
But don’t expect me to smile.
I borrowed this mouth from a friend
Whose dog is dead and whose dad doesn’t get
Why she wants to move out so bad.
Go ahead and sprinkle my head
With fairy dust, but don’t be upsetIf I sneeze; this nose isn’t mine either.