the thinner i am and the thinner i am not

the line between teasing me and hurting my feelings

is thin as my skin, thin like a bubble with air inside  

and air outside - sudden bursts - soap in the eyes

chemical burning. thin like the women i saw as

a child and was told were an ugly-pretty and i was

but reminded i would never ever be one of them.

 

i know. i know. i know. thin like the edge of the

knife which i balance my emotions on like life

is a circus act and i will easily cirque du soleil 

into the perfection i craved as a child. the kind

so quiet, so little, so thin, no one sees or hears;

perfection is non-existence. precarious balance.

a sharp thin piano wire in a mobster hand, flies

quickly, quietly, you can just feel a rush of wind.

the thin edge of a cliff. i may fall off. i might float!

under the radar, under your foot, underneath it all

i know. i know. i know. there is more - like cool tile

 floor beneath carpets unseen but there. another layer

of glue below that. layers. look away. like ribs which

pop out the back of a friend bending in her thin shirt

made of frail lace. it covers up but shows everything.

i try to turn my eyes away to not stare. i'm an open

bleeding wound. too sensitive. too little. too much.

i feel the pebble in shoe. i feel the raw red rash from

thick, wool sweater on bare skin. i feel. i feel. god, i feel.

the flimsy and sticky film peeled off brand new phone.

if only i could push it below the floor boards till no one

could see, could feel, could know - i have thin lines inside.

my thin lines are crossed everyday. not boundaries. lines. 

such thin lines. shrug - we just got our little wires crossed.

but wires slice off heads in capable hands. i have big hands.