the only good thing that comes out of a bad break up is good poetry.
if been sketching my head trying
to understand why God uses
these hands to write art that curls at the tongue.
some days i’m no good at it
other i’m left crying over the sink
blood dripping from my mouth
from biting my tongue trying not
to scream the words out of the
box springs i hid so deep
in my throat.
in school they called me chatty cathy
you would never see me without
a mouthful to say
i didn’t know this was bad until i was made to feel that way.
i stopped talking the older i got
focused on writing
and before i knew it
my legs were shaking at the
words i was molding.
my eyes have always been fixated
on the brighter colors
but these days it’s all
grey.
your absence has drained me
but not these words.