Sometimes I can see through
my own skin and I don’t like
the way the light shines behind it
like an egg under a heat lamp
sometimes I wish I never quit
everything I ever started
red and yellow blotches and
unread messages from people I’m dying
to see but would rather that than
give typing a thought
I hate the artwork on this
journal but I love my mom
and she wouldn’t care if I told
her the truth because she’s
God to me the one I pray to
and meet in death
she is the light beneath my skin
and everything I love
about the things that I hate
— ODH
About the Creator
Olivia Dodge
Chicago
ig: l1vyzzzz & lntlmate
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How will it end?
We’re halfway through a show I begged you to watch and I’m beginning to think it’s not up to me anymore. Not the tv rotation but maybe everything else. It’s all been laid out and kneaded and covered with saran wrap and you’re not supposed to wake it up too early for risk of eczema or whatever the bread equivalent is and does it even matter when all I could ever want is right in front of me? Days are passing like overloaded shipping containers and not one of them has my name on it. There’s no room for me anyway. My fingers aren’t strong enough to hang on since the incident. But where do I want to go? I’m right where I want to be and I’m not here at all. The frames on the walls are just out of place and my arms feel weaker than they did last week and I just don’t know if this is my decision to make or if it’s already been spelled out and erased and rewritten a thousand times. We’re inching closer to an ending with every sun that rises and sets. I don’t know where it goes when it’s not shining in my eyes. I don’t know what to do with the me that’s sitting right here. Are you watching? How do you think it ends?
By Olivia Dodge14 days ago in Poets
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