My rib cage is
Collapsing;
All the butterflies
Inside me
Have died

One day your branches
Will not stretch
Towards me.
One day your roots
Will recoil.
One day your bows
Will grow to
Abhor me.
One day I will sink
In the soil.

I am not Atlas
I cannot bear
The weight
Of the skies
That I am
Under

may i always write words more naked than flesh,
more stronger than bone,
more sensitive than nerve.
may i always dip my finger into rivers of ink that will never run dry.
on the days i am not an ocean or a shipwreck,
may i always become an anchor.
may i understand that somedays words are a bridge,
and others are the fire that burns them.
that sometimes i write the words,
and that sometimes the words write me.