Why did I wait
till now,
till I'm watching in horror
as these hidden elements
of my Self
revolt, finally finding their voice
in dysfunction?
It's so clear now:

When this part wanted to cry
I smiled.
When this part flushed with desire
I stiffened my spine.
When this part sickened
I went to work.
When this part feared
I laughed.
When this part fumed for a listening ear
I shrugged and turned away.

How did we get here—
table stacked with empties,
screen full of porn,
anger so clear now
spread before us:
telling chunks of vomit, tea leaves
for yesterday?