there's nothing beautiful about envy.
there's nothing beautiful about jeaolousy
there's nothing beautiful about anger
but there's nothing beautiful about feeling sedated
or insipid or brash or subtle or overwired.
squealing sunlight and a pure blue room
and trickling foliage and sprinkles of water.
there is no point
running around in rooms
cornered by fear and
dark liquid, sluggish pain
swallowing me and capturing me in a hole of limitations

I want my own set of spanners
to bolt up my screams
my cries, my sordid desperation
my sweltering mordant shapes.
my fear.