I don’t want to be a palpable woman
 I want you to 
 choke 
 on my thoughts
 because they’re important
 and deserve time to go down 
 slowly
 and digest in your system
 before you spit back at me
 that I’m bossy
 and sassy
 and moody
 and just a girl
 in a corporate office 
 younger than you
 yet excelling in everything I touch
 I hate that I’m hated for being strong and
 confident
 I don’t fish for compliments
 or flatter my boss into liking me
 by pretending to like her
 I won’t make myself easy to swallow 

 I don’t know her
 but then again I do
 we were just getting acquainted
 when her brain left the station 

 I used to think 
 the people who thought pain was beautiful 
 were fucked in the head 
 but now I know
 they were just looking in a mirror
 and they wanted to actually like what they saw 
  
 we all want to like ourselves 

 I have a theory:
 you hate him
  
 you hate him because he’s like you
 the way he talks
 the way he cries
 the way his light fades
 when you look away
  
 but he’s your moon:
 he can only reflect you 

 am I your inner child?
 do you care for me
 as a way of caring for yourself?
 sometimes my inner child is my future baby
 and I care for myself
 so that one day
 I may care for her
 better to raise her imperfectly
 than to watch from above
  
 maybe if you keep caring for me
 you can get me to that place of safety
 away from the place of cold and shadows
  
 on some days
 my inner child is the plant I’ve had for nine years
 and on some days
 watering that plant is enough