I have been thinking about gifts

One will be a book that makes you so sad
another one will be a plant, alive
something you can smell, third

the last one, if you like,
can be all of these words
I have been storing up as if they were
old furniture
clogging up my throat
(it was painful at first - now they have adjusted)

the thing is, you see, I have beautiful words
for you, that say how much I love you
and how you will never feel alone

I also have this disease, I am sick
so my words are sick and they embarrass me
but they are so true,
I wish you'd take them

this sickness says I am not yours
nor will I ever be
because I am just a replacement
a robot replacement for someone else
you used to love

this sickness says I am nothing
I am just a way for you to be
less alone, and more here
I am a tool, I am something to be used
and how I love that you use me

this sickness says I am deaf
and the only thing I hear is how
you lie to yourself
and the minutes left until you
discover this lie

this sickness says I can't be touched
because your touch imprints on me
like acid burns and then I am no good
for anyone else

I am voraciously hungry for the words you never give me
I will always be her, for you
I hope you never find out

there are these words and so many more
wrapped as a gift
you will never choose

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