before the new year

i feel like throwing up.

i feel like throwing up.

i will let you take all your little stabs at me.

let you come with your tear sharpened knife.

let you bring all the knowledge of my secret shadows—

of the curve of my feet, of the hollow of my stomach, of the

pink skin of my scalp. 

let you come and I will sit here like paper until you punch me through

a hundred times a thousand times a million times

with your stabbing words.

and then

i will float away.