Threnody for My Self-Worth

Each word is a thread/ you weave with your teeth/ and your fingertips

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This is exactly how you
disappear.

The words you wrote
letter by painstaking letter
are turned into
bubblegum that POPs
with each crunch of their molars.
Those serifs surfing unsafely
in the lining of
your critic’s intestines.

But then you
reappear:
line by line
sentence by sentence
page by page.

You do not collapse into
yourself,
a hot mess of verbiage,
imploding like a dying sun.

You
become.
Each word is a thread
you weave with your teeth
and your fingertips
to assault the world
in violent bursts of
violet yarn.

Ignore their crunching
gnashing teeth on tone and
tense —
Your words are worth
more than a bubblegum tongue.

Your words are worth
more
than you give them
credit
for.