Meet me where I am broken.
Where I am no longer smiling, growling
Or talking, not even crying or moaning.
Meet me where my handwriting is sloppy.
Where my sentences are
Half written, my eyes half open, and my pants half worn.
In my grey paint smudged over
My graphite pencil marks
And the scraping, trying to erase, only to
A pink joining the story.
Big gulps of pink milk I never invited.
Meet me where I am hungry.
For food that's slow to digest. And fix my pan if you can
So together we can eat.