separating and colliding

I do oddly satisfying things —

like sabotage what I love the most.

I create elaborate plans for my own ruin

and set aside time to lament what was ruined.

I play hide and seek with myself sometimes.

And disappear when I know someone is searching me.

I convince myself that too good is not a good thing.

And too much joy is not a state

but the sound of the arrival of great distress

I live moments from a different decade

and play the role of a dead woman.

I act like the Sultana of the Harem-

a captive of her daydreams with no agency.

I conspire against my own mind,

and be the villain

who sheds off her soft parts -

revealing rawness and filth.