I might as well be mute
And you may as well be deaf
In your right ear,
But those are not the reasons
I never told you any of this.
I just knew to the roots of my teeth
And the skin of my tongue
That you wouldn’t hear me.
poetry
POV: PO Box
365 days a year.
52 weeks.
Every day mouth opened.
Yawning wide
Letters fly in.
Hand hewn,
Seed of the soul
Love letters
I embowel.
Buried deep
Mommy
Cartoons on the TV for hours.
Barbies after that.
Mommy, braid my hair.
Lessons not yet learned,
Too much eye-shadow.
Mommy, I can braid my own hair.
Forty hour work weeks,
Dishes, laundry, and bills.
Mommy, braid my hair?
Years gone.
Goodbye.
Mommy, I will braid your hair.
I’m Breaking Up With You Because…
I hate
myself
when I’m
around you
more than
I love
us.
Choke
I train my dreams on a retractable leash
Running free yard after yard.
Until one inch too far they choke,
gasping on the thin air of absolute reality
642 Poems and More 