Empty Cups
This is
not a
poem
about
how to
accept
yourself
because
that is
imposs-
ible.
For whom
is there
to do
the ac-
cepting
and what
is ac-
cepted?
Who is
the one?
Show me.
What is
the one?
Show me.
Show me.
Show me.
This is
not a
poem
about
the tale
of you
saying
yes to
the tale
of you.
Who
accepts?
Have you
heard that
you can
not pull
yourself
up by
your own
bootstraps?
Visu-
alize-
this act
and ask:
What
is you?
Who
is you?
This is
not a
poem.
This is
a gun
pointed
at you.
Don’t be
afraid.
Be free.\
Bite the
bullet.