Special Nutcase

If I hear the inside of someone’s mouth slapping I’ll lose my fucking mind.

Sometimes the texture of sweaters burns through my skin to my bone.

I wish I could scratch off the ridges on my fingertips.
If I was invincible I’d never grab another seatbelt.

I can’t eat mashed potatoes because of the way they stick together,
a team working to bring a blind fit of rage out from me.

Coarse wool socks, or pantyhose; I’d rather be naked in the winter wind.

The way your voice vibrates and clicks makes me want a bullet to crawl
through my head, I have to count to ten just to sit still.

Have you ever been afraid to sit in class because of how someone next to you is breathing?

Have you ever been unable to open a birthday present because the ribbon’s texture
makes your skin feel like its on fire?

Have you ever run away from a beautiful dress in a store
because the fabric forces your nails into your palms?

I have.

Ceramic makes me calm. I like the bark on trees and apple skin. Rubber comforts me eternally.

The worst is no one can help or understand. You can’t ask someone to please stop breathing
so wetly, please don’t pronounce your T’s so sharply, please speak in a different key. That’s rude.
I’m inconsiderate. Who do I think I am and where do I get the nerve?

I get the nerve from that sound that makes me homicidal, the texture that makes me suicidal and how biting my inner cheek
makes me feel invincible. I get it from knowing
I have to learn to cope,
but it’s inconsiderate to ask for help
from the person next to me.

Crooked me will never find comfort
within my senses’ bounds. Rebirth yourself, world.
Please, be free from all my banes this time.