I usually go to bed by ten pm
swathed in cheap sheets I picked up
from a trash can: moth-bitten
and low thread count and I washed them
but you’re right it’s a sense of self-deprivation
I wrap myself tightly inside
while I’m
tortured by my low self worth,
absent flowers, cold feet,
lamp on next to me and
wax all over the unfinished table
you were making
before I threw the chair you had finished
down the stairs to get you to
open up
here is what I need
I might have screamed
as you opened up the door
if I was better at controlling my
communication
but it ended in a slap across
your face and
your hands around my neck.

yeah there is a badger
in me, hind legs,
growl out.
mask down,
got nothing to hide
now except all these
tattoos.

“the war”