Internal Affairs

I pack disappointment the way other people pack lip balm.

A displeasure of self sits in my purse,

like a special seasoning that I must sprinkle onto every meal.

I find myself to be difficult, always ready for war.

Except, the funny thing is,

there is always only one person on the battlefield, me.

I rip myself to shreds, like I used to tell the teachers my dog did to my homework.

I am exhausting,

two million thoughts a minute,

and I must acknowledge all of them.