There are poems of love I will now never finish

Singing nothings that are now nothingness.

You did this, you killed them, you stole out their flame

Now silence must pay back the debt of this pain.

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Hope

Whoa, what bitterness is this

Whose twisted thoughts have I trekked in?

Surely this darkness isn’t mine,

This want for aching, wasted time

Someday I’ll be solid, healed

Someday the nightmares won’t be there to steal

If the nights are silent, the days reveal

Endless screaming from the ones repealed

Some time night and day alike

Will toss their haunting-juggling storms

Aside

And all the worry and fear I despise

Will finally

Entirely

Subside.

Happy invisible illness awareness week

I still feel fake

Like I am a parade

What business do I have

Saying I’m not okay?

As healthy as I seem… My sickness can’t be seen.

My poison had no name

So WHO AM I TO CLAIM

“I can’t because I’m lame…”

To pass along the blame?

It is so hard to accept, to know

That I can ever say no…

Constellation

One day soon my bones will dissolve

The tension inside will relax and resolve

I’ll breathe out some sparks and light up the dark

My hunger pangs ceasing as my rib cage departs.

Someday soon my pain will end

Each muscle releasing the screaming within

And every candle glowing in my blood

will rival the stars again.

pottery

faulted
fractured
broken bits; human beings wonder if
we’ll ever be fixed enough to seem
like heartache is not unraveling
the seams we stitch to break our bonds
funny how we tie those knots
specifically to free ourselves;
and yet the prison remains.

we are cracked and chipped like pottery
the lumpy turtle kilned in third grade;
Pork Chop the pig named by pigtails
and all the in between.
And yet more perfect still are we
than over-fired pottery;
humans were made by divine hands
so no matter how we crush ourselves
we can always be repaired.