Screaming is your love language.

You gnash your teeth.

Inches from me, you hover over.

You probably feel like a great tower, a skyscraper.

I must seem like a weed in the sidewalk cracks.

Your voice is like the wail from the chemical plants.

I can't understand anything you're saying.

You're just noise.

And I just want there to be silence.

I am foul mouthed.

I am mostly sharp edges.

My mind is an old projector on loop.

Repeating moments over and over.

But it can never be changed.

I'm too old to peel off the invisible layer.

A thick sheet of prickles.

I'm too old to restructure.

To rebuild the bones and flesh around my soul.

But I'm not too old to love.

To speak kindly.

To do better.

To be.