Season

“Seasons are always changing. What season are you in?”

I am in a season of “fuck you, you don’t
can’t
couldn’t possibly
definitely don’t
know me”
so stop trying right there,
right where you are.
Stop and don’t get any closer. I am a dragon swallowing my fire.
I am a cuticle I’ve ripped completely off.
I am a blood-soaked tissue.
I am without joy in this season.
I look for where I’ve hidden my portion,
but it is nowhere to be found.
I am hiding.
I am not okay.
I am completely misunderstood. I am supposed to sing later today.
Perform in front of peers and others.
My birthday approaches.
The holiday I hate.
Thanksgiving.
Where no one is grateful to be with anyone.
I want to blow down the house with my fire breath, and everyone in it.
I want to run away forever.
I don’t want this body, spirit, or soul.
No part of it.
I recognize nothing. What happened to my joy?
Where did I set it down?
Is it with the cross necklace I cannot find?
Eaten by the cursed inhabitants of the cursed house.
With the calories I will not eat?
I want to die.
There is no place for me.
Not here, not there.
No place not home.