Dispenser II (an updated version of an older poem)

Well, fuck me if I’m wrong
But I’ve done it again
I’ve built you into an effigy
A brand new scarecrow
For the same silly little girl sadness
I came here to run away from

I have made you into an approval dispenser
And you still won’t dispense
You won’t dispense
With your pretentions, the ones
I can never decode
The same bursts of joy that I can’t elicit
The same cold and staring and so unimpressed
When I’m pushing hard to be manic instead of depressed
Slicing long incisions
Reopening old wounds
Just so I can turn myself inside out
To try to show you
I am not so bad
If you really
Get to know me

Could you really
Get to know me?

I want surgical lamps glaring
On all the parts of me
I want you to see
Everything about me
That ever felt flawed
I want you to see the beauty
Buried in the seam allowance I was built with
Stitch-ripper in hand
I am clawing myself to pieces
Searching for something deserving

And let me tell you something
Please let me tell you
Sit still
and leave your brain open like a cleared runway
Because you forgot that you told me
But I remember
That you understand about airports

Give me the chance I’m craving
I’m carving out extra room inside my skull already
To make room for new ways to love you
If only you’ll look at me
The way I dream of being seen

After every meltdown
You are pouring me tears and all
Into new moulds
Pressure and steam will make me
A new prototype in your image
I’ll be yours

But you are already mine
And I’m craving something from you
That you don’t know you have
You have power in your pockets
And I put it there
That first night, when you first held my hand
If you feel heavy
It’s the burden of a childhood you’re carrying on your shoulders
Weighing them down
And it isn’t yours

Freud was discredited
But his oldman outdated fingerprints
Are stored in my high school memory
Like so many phone numbers that belong to different people now
And my brain won’t forget the connection
It won’t forget the hurt of ironclad iron curtain indifference
And romantic comedies have told me you should be able to make the difference
For me
That I should elicit a saviour in you
That when visited by legions of unholy ghosts
I should bury myself in the consecrated ground
The asylum of your arms around me
Take shelter
And be quiet

And for lack of a better word,
I’m waiting
For you to dispense.

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