she came home sun-tanned and smiling from her eyes,
red-rimmed with exhaustion
but sparking a new fire-light
she came home clever and leaner
startled by her own steel and her own weakness
startled by how much she missed him
she came home sewn-up with stars in her stitches
and unlit moons that offered new riches
she came home wanting, jaunty and restless
entirely too intent on courage to waste any time among the tame.
she came back, and he was at home with the taste of her name.
Late at night my eyes rebuke
My thoughts and careless doubts.
Unfelt, then, my heart stampedes
And the love-sickness bleeds out.
i miss you.
We snarl chortle chuckle scream
Wallowing in the between
Somehow each breath can carry along
Potential for grief and joy and song.
I am not the first poet
Nor will I be the last
Not the only wordsmith,
Nor will my couplets last.
But my words at least serve to purge
The darkness locked inside.
When I cannot breathe or cry or speak
I’ll rhyme and scribe and write.
What I am is not what I am what I
Am is being me so
Please don’t hurt me help me please
Find the locks on all the keys
Settle your lots with death and leave
And let my heart just be.
Let the words around be a salve, let them soothe
Every step an inky mess, contrived to free me
My heart bleeds. Syllables drop onto the page, the walls
And seep into eyelids, whispers and wounds.
I need them to live, to purify me
Foulness is flung from my hands as I speak
With a swirl of ink, and words, which are born
To die by my hand, thistled and thorned.
WHY am I this nebula
Lost swirling in the sea-sky
Why do my tears form stars and light
Why is my heartbreak bright?
The coldest starlight flickers warmth
And silk-hearts scream inside
I cannot love or feel or touch
In distant injured skies.