Hooded and cloaked,

I hide from those gazes

that I know appear

when I munch.

Trip with a snack

inside my palm.

In order to go unnoticed

sometimes I must sacrifice


I breathe slowly,

so as not to announce

my presence.

The inner demons

that chase me,

as I circle the kitchen.

They are all hiding,

watching me

grab a little here

a little there.

I fear giving away

my stashes.

Secret places.

And sometimes

I dress these foods

in bags,

so they will remain ordinary

in open air.

Nothing to hide

or look for.


But then I ask myself.

“What am I doing?”

A sense of incredulity

surrounds me.

Must I go to so much trouble

just to eat what I want?



And so my hood

only dips forward,

concealing the self-blame

from others.

Nothing else left to reveal

to myself. I already know.

Inside the musty darkness,

I have already judged myself.



I’ve got whiplash,

a brand across the neck.

Struck by grief,

as I try to dodge it—

I am no match.


Despair is breaking down

my molecules,

eating away at me,

and so I eat and eat and eat

to replenish myself.

Or so I think.

Mostly to keep

myself afloat,

inside and out.


I am scared

to be separated from


the smiles on other peoples’

faces, animated, joyful.


I am isolated inside

my hunger.

It’s grip is so fierce,

squeezing, rocking,



I am the only passenger

on this ride.

Abandoned unintentionally,

I must search for calmer waters.

Or I will fall even deeper.


I am trying so hard;

no giving in.

Treading water.

But the others

couldn’t do it

forever either.



I put the block there.

Squashing the inspirations

I got, one after another,

like raindrops scarcely found.

I evaded the pain, sealed it up

and buried it and soon

it was covered over

with a road. Like a crack

that has been filled.

I was under the impression

that I could hide

from the existence

of my own feelings,

the colors that brighten

a canvas but also

embrace the shadows

and edges.


I put the block there

like a road sign that read—


Except there was no end,

I just didn’t want to see it.

Burying thoughts doesn’t kill them.

They rise like zombies

so their true voices can be heard—

and then I break.

The conscious is caving in.

Nothing can withstand the paleness

of my heart as it blanches,

I have so much to learn.

There’s no out-running myself now.


Water pops out of the road

like hydrants

swiftly weighing nothing.

The residue of deliberations

I once thought dried up,

are renewed and all I can do

is fall.

Like a heart attack,

I am pushed to the ground.

Feeling everything, seeing everything,

an uncanny rainbow

and I bonk my head on the block,

conscious, sensing as it buckles.

And this is what I get,

this is what I get for putting

a band aid on a burn,

all these words raining down on me,

scattered emotions tearing at me

sizzling. They gather like dead ashes

and become part of the dark sea

around me.


After everything dries away,

I am wrinkled and shriveled up,

unlike any other shape

I have been in.

And abandoned.

My words are jumbled

and fighting to be seen

like children pushing through.

Barriers keeping them back;

the proverbial writers’ block

has landed, not for my sake.

I did not put it there.

And this time,

I wish it weren’t.


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