You get mixed messages because I have mixed feelings.

I love you still, Against my will.

Your hair is an act of God.

Please. Don’t switch off my mind by attempting to straighten me out. Listen and understand, and when you feel contempt don’t express it, at least not verbally, at least not to me.

Sleep with a dog and rise full of fleas.

I crave white on white and black, but my thoughts race in glorious technicolour, prodding me awake, whipping away the warm blanket of invisibility every time it sears to smother my mind in nothing.

They will love me for that which destroys me.