Kelly Collins is a young poet who lives in Oregon and struggles with bipolar disorder. She spends most of her time painting and writing. For more of her work follow her at

A Prose Poem

By Kelly Collins


It’s the way the raspberries in the fridge untouched until they rotted because I couldn’t comprehend such sweetness being corrupted by my mouth. I watched them die anyways.

It’s the way I’d join a riot just to have seen people at their worst and feel at home among the chaos. So that I could be a part of something that looks like a blown up portrait of myself. With people who will not seem so like me tomorrow in the daylight.

It’s the way that piling on more wet clothes at two below zero is preferable over peeling off the layers to sit with bare skin by the fire you built for me. I don’t want you to see me like this.

It’s the way my bones have yellowed from holding secrets which are too ugly to bear the light. Taking on lives of their own and breeding more hideous secrets, comfortable in the dark.

I was never meant to be loved by something like you. Something which thrives in the daylight with lips the color of raspberries. You too are my favorite taste, and I leave you on a shelf, untouched.