I wish I were the type
That could write you
A love letter-
Give you something to believe in.

But I only have me
And I’m fond of jumping in-
Finding out I don’t like the water
And crawling out the window.

I’ve trained myself
Into self-sufficiency
And boredom.

I wish I needed more than me

But once that part has been sectioned off
It’s easy to forget
About people
About intimacy
About craving.

I’ve got surgeon’s hands
Skilled when it comes to blades
And blood
But among all this mess and talent-

I think I’ve finally found enough.