An end for every beginning.
The price of being; to one day
Not. Still some eat their cake
To keep it.

I have been more mis- than
Understood in my life.
I speak in symbols, meta-thoughts.
Poetry is

Not for the ones who imagine
Grudges so they have something to
Hold. All I know is that this ****
Plane will

Refuse to go down with us in it.
If it stops, it stays up here
Until we make up our minds to
Land and keep loving. Or jump.

blue
green
brown
eyes
skittering
up and down
my back
tiny mice
without their
cheese

anxiety is a rope
made of the strongest fibers
that takes joy in slithering down your throat
and wrapping around your intestines.
it coils so very tightly
twisting and turning and tying
until you are on your knees
gasping for breath
and wishing for invisibility

                                                (or­ death,
                                                          ­      whichever is easier)