fruit on the tree

I return to the orange grove-

the one that I was born in so many times before

I exist in never-ending stasis 

because nobody told me when to start

seeing the world through rose colored eyelids

I am the teeth that rip myself apart.

trying to use them as fingers to put things back together 

         tendons tighten and slowly begin to rupture

I know that its impure, but I give myself leeway 

when it comes to self - empowerment.