by Eva Fischer Rech

I am
made up of
sunflowers, so strong but praised only for their beauty
and a smoke filled stomach
consistently empty otherwise,
boxes of hair dye
craving expression
and a drawer filled with countless
hospital bracelets
that will never be seen by new eyes,
racing thoughts
that turn small demons
into monsters
too big for me to control,
artificial sunshine
and bright yellow paint
that I attempt to drown my life in
whenever remotely possible,
my well worn in Doc Martins
and the strong willed tattoo that kisses my spine
and gets me glares from
conservative old women at the supermarket.
I am a double-sided mirror:
I can see out
but you will only get glimpses
at what lies behind the exterior.