Growth Spurts

There must be something so satisfying about the way I hide my hurt.

The crumbs of sanity fall out of me until I become plain and absurd,

But everyone seems to love it, and I wonder whether I should too?

Pleasing all the souls I meet turns out to be my personal Waterloo.

The pressure sticks its filthy nails in my ribs when I am not watching.

My old dreams float by, I no longer consider them worth catching.

There is still a fire behind my pupils, but no one sees that spark.

I do not let anyone notice my dripping eyes in the thickest dark.

Another morning always arrives a moment too soon and it hurts.

The days in the calendar cross themselves off as I wish

That I am all out of growth spurts.

-JW