Paper Cuts and Bruises

No matter how cleverly

I write my metaphors Or speak with tears in my eyes

I only ever get

picked apart

I could bleed my soul on a sheet of paper

But even the paper would critique

my style

It would claim not to be big enough

To hold all my

heavy weight, nor could it

I tell you, cleverly,

I feel trapped inside I tell you tearfully,

I cannot escape

And yet,

you pick out the pieces

The parts of my soul that are good Then criticize the ones

that are weak (why?)

I speak no more than a few sentences

But even my words aren't strong enough

You turn them inside out,

deeming them lies

I can no longer fathom

a surmise

I cannot escape (no,

I cannot)