Poets.
I never understood poets
Snobbish
-ly frillish
violence-bringers
with word-weapons
like daggers in teacups—
stirring the very tea I cringe to drink
Scalding, honey sweet
(can you taste it?)

Poets.
Hurt-havers with rhymes
ache-mirrors
exposing
my misty mind
my spongy heart
my soft pillowy body—
whispering “you can’t hide from me”
Feathery, under my skin
(can you feel it?)

Poets.
Reckoners with truthplay
Terrifying and-
Hush, listen!
If I take off my shame
let it pool at my feet
cast aside, no fear—
understanding can begin like a morning
New, fresh with dew
(can you touch it?)

Poets.
Me.
Steeping my tea, ready
the sun rises steady
shining brightly on
You.
(can you want it?)

hypervigilance is ever-salt
a siren
grabbing your ankle quietly
singing unsoothing lullabies
loud, right in your tender ear
pulling, out like baby teeth—
one by one
dragging you into deep blue
eyes black as she smiles sharp
pain when fear pours searing
into your lungs salty
—so ******* salty—

later, much later
you’re made of ever-salt fully
floating, not dead
still buried
in the dark wet gripped
by your ankle-mind tightly
until you see her face murky
then—
you squint
you gasp
you choke
on the entire ocean
because
—all this time—

the siren is you

let go, little siren
we’re drowning
you’re safe, little siren
let me hold me now