The Gross Details of My Breathing

Sometimes I try and squish all the poem ideas I have into one clusterfuck of a piece and I end up with something like this:


I chewed my bottom lip apart today
in an effort to keep from falling apart
in the middle of the classroom.
I took my teeth to the soft flesh there
and marred it until the taste of blood
was just the taste of my own mouth.

I thought that if I could slowly take myself
piece by piece by piece
(instead of leaving the job to someone else)
things could get easier

Because if I can focus on the blood
and the little pieces of skin
between my teeth,
if I can focus on that,
then the sadness and compression
in my chest gets buried just a little bit.
And I’m able to exist beyond the guilt
of simply doing so
and pick myself up,
because falling apart is just too painful
(for now)


I have really gross habits of biting my lips and picking at my fingers a lot and I’ve always wondered why it was such a thing for anxious people. I think it might have something to do with the fact that we’re so tired of being ourselves but we know that we’re the ones that will  ultimately be our own destruction.

Officially a part of Confessions of a Serial Human Being.


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