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 upset

If I sneeze; this nose isn’t mine either.