Manhattan

i’m with back pain
for years
laying down
in this coffin bed
cozy and warm
waiting for me to disintegrate

don’t look at the moon
tonight
i’ll - or it’ll - never be manhattan
but it would make me feel special
if you read the poems i sent you
or if you really cared about my day
or to be my friend

i gave up on being any good
but i need to be a good woman to myself
bring this love and attention to within
but anyway
right now i’m more at peace
i don’t expect much from anyone
and yeah, it sucks that you
didn’t even posted my poem

i wish i didn’t say anything
am i really at peace?
or i’m just spiraling in my
life-long quarantine?

i’m almost falling asleep
and i wonder
how many and how long
this inside suffering i’ll keep?