Use Your Head to Lead with Heart

I am walking down the Charles River, a Quentin who has now perfected her Prozac routine. I am Princess Diana with her headphones in, listening to Wham on her Walkman while she rollarblades down the halls of Buckingham Palace. I am Sylvia Plath, a former Smith College student who burst open in the form of poetry for lack of love.

I say everyday words over and over in my head until they are worn down like lake stones.

A tea bag once told me to use my head to lead with heart. I hover over text messages left on read, I like battered fries; Bach makes me sad. When he said, your body is the bow and your mind is the arrow, I promised myself not to regurgitate it in a poem. Here we go.

My anxiety is the worst flavor of Laffy Taffy.

My heart is a globe I am forced to call home. It is black and blue and reeks of rotten fish.

I once loved too much and I am worn down, a tempest with baggage flying around.