I am afraid:
Afraid
That my insides are Splenda
When my bones ache for sugar,
And my tongue collapses
Under the weight of fake white crystal,
With an after-taste.
I am afraid:
Afraid
That I’ve become my own handshake
With my worth in my grip.
That I’ve become the essay handed in late
And two pages too short.
That I am more virtual than physical,
The sum of Facebook and Friendster and Linkedin:
Digital revisions of self
Tell the story of triumph.
No matter,
It’s been photoshopped in.
I am still Splenda,
Not sugar.
And,
I am afraid.
