am i billie eilish?

or sylvia plath?

someone said —

i write like her.

i breathe like her.

i act like the billie,

all soft black sleeves.

plath —

she opened her skull.

let the tears pour out.

called it poetry.

billie —

she hums her bruises.

makes the sadness sound sweet.

makes you nod along.

makes you like your sadness.

what am i?

half soft voice, half sharp tongue.

a song with a knife hidden inside.

maybe i’m just pages.

a half-dead hum.

a soft thing.

a mean thing.

do you see them?

under my skin?

plath’s ash?

or billie’s hum?

maybe i’m not either.

maybe i’m both.

maybe i’m nothing.