THE CLOSET MYSTIC

I stared at the cliff’s edge,

and told myself

I was only going to dip 

my feet in—

so tell me:

how am I up to my neck 

in absinthe?

lord, help me:

I’m drowning 

in obsession,

this liquid spirit, 

like the Styx,

my psychic murk,

so acidic—

it burns me, it burns—

so why 

do I crave it?

the self betrayal 

of the poet.

radio silence,

the artist 

gone quiet.

shut your mouth,

keep the food out,

but your words 

in.

how quickly 

did I jump ship—

haven’t written 

a poem 

in months.

did i dry the well?

it’s not hard 

to tell:

gaunt eyes,

hollow shell.

I stopped looking 

to the future.

instead of planning 

my career,

fawning 

over that

bright star,

I thought more 

of how to fit 

400 calories

into a single dinner.

a blessing

to choose 

to eat less.

a blessing 

to fret

over weighing more. 

a blessing

to know this folly.

i will fall 

into this trap again:

still,

i consider myself blessed.

I’m not a fraud.

I never lied once—

I fell, & fell hard,

but never hid the blood.

I saw the sickness

spreading through my marrow–

the blackest ink

in the most pristine waters—

I worked so hard,

& guarded this meadow

of my own making—

I tended to the Earth

& nursed her back to health,

so tell me: for bringing ruin 

to my Eden,

how can I ever 

forgive myself?

tonight,

i say enough.

binge, restrict:

the coin of self-loathing.

but my life is bigger 

than being bigger.

isn’t that self love?

yea—

tonight, i say enough.

i

am enough.