my friend believes
i need to get a pet
she called my
loneliness
catastrophic
i countered by asking
if i can barely
find the will
to keep myself alive
why would i want
a poor animal
to suffer as well
then had to explain
it isn’t loneliness
it is madness
and that catastrophic
barely touched
the surface

i have love enough
for a lifetime
two kids i see
on a part time basis
the woman with
wildflowers in
her perfect smile
and a handful of
people i can trust

she countered by
saying she reads my
overabundance of poetry
and can see how bad
i struggle daily
which is fair
if perhaps a touch
misleading of me

frida kahlo painted
fifty five of her
one hundred and forty three
works of art as
self portraits
because she knew
one subject better
than any other
which makes perfect sense
if you consider
the natural isolation
that comes with
being lost in the currents
of sheer creation

i see all of
the flaws and cracks
in my own reflection
can deep dive into them
pull them open
to expose the ugliness
of a fool’s insanity
with an electron scope
because what else do i
know half as well
as the thoughts streaming
from my own hollow skull
painting myself in
the caricatures
on full display in
the silence of my hell
to twitch morosely
on my canvas of choice
but unlike frida
who had a beautiful soul
ripe for interpretation
mine is a kaleidoscope
of unrelenting miseries

i dont need a pet
but the knowledge
someone cares enough
to worry is a balm
on the ever ticking bomb
imprisoned in my chest
even as i rub
two sticks hoping for
a spark to catch
to light the fuse
for another desperate ode
to love and sorrow
because i am nothing
if not fully aware
i only attain beauty
when i am bleeding
waving as i drown
in the ocean of words
a feast for the crabs
and starfish to consume
as i settle to the silt

but if i did
get a new kitten
i would name her
frida the ferocious
after my third
favorite artist