Painful Painting of The Way I Desire

By Vittoria Burgess

Somehow the rain does not cool these rooms 
A singular window 
stretched 
as far as it will let me 
Sweat pouring down my back 
I forget I’m inside 
Face reddening
full of warmth 
my stomach churns

I find it hard to write about things I love 
Unless I am loving until destruction 

I will overanalyze my every action 
Convincing myself it makes me a better person
I am aware this is pointless and unrealistic
I cannot stop myself from believing it

When love fills my lungs 
My knees give out
Sometimes my arms twist when I land  
Often my ankle forces itself over
Either way, I am injured 

The smell of wet paint is intoxicating in this tiny room 
I cannot tell if my light-headedness is a result of these fumes
Or the idea that love could transpire
Flaws and injuries – the only way I have ever loved  
My brain has forced me to break my wrist 
Over someone who has not shown me love in return 

Please nurse me back to health 
I will not scream when my joints are forced back into place