aphelion (and Being)

if nothing else, i am
the purplish-greenish hue 
of the thumbprint you etched into my neck. 
dead skin doesn’t bruise;
is it a gift or a curse that i 

if nothing else, i am
the fact that Neurological Pop-Up Blocker
is not really a thing, sorry
the fake out make outs with unrequited lovers in my head
the lying awake and dreaming
of quick death by ambien.
recurrent clinical overthinking,
pretending i trademarked neuroticism,
then disguising the crazy with hoop earrings and good skin.
“cherubic face, fucked up brain,”
he said

if nothing else, i am
extemporaneous word vomit,
of a nauseous heart, bloated brain 
chunks of emotional throw-up sprayed on the boys who dare 
whisper sweet nothings
near the nape of my neck.
i rinse out my mouth 
by memorializing my vomit on the internet

if nothing else, i am
an elixir of blood tears blood tears snot vomit blood
proof of life, by way of 
the public display of saltwater leaks 
i could not plug
by way of monthly cycles
of busted lips and bloody teeth
by way of anxiety fucking me over 
with more minutes spent kneeling over toilets 
than number of times i’ve spoken out loud
the disgusting pus of living, 
distilled and poured 
into this vessel of a girl

if nothing else, 
at the very least, 
i am.