What can you write about a woman that hasn't been said yet?

Do you tell her things she's heard in past lives or ones she's yet to hear in future lives

I do not worry about redundancy

Instead I will learn ways that cannot be replicated

Languages that have yet to convey such meaning

I will be the wake: the light, the dawn

the cosmic inclination to summon you

with the hope our stardust collides again

I don't even know who I write to anymore
do I hope you'll stumble across my work
that you'll tell yourself "just one more line" again and again
And when you reach the end you'll read again
until there's nothing left to find
and you'll sob and tears will distort the screen
you'll wipe them away and forget all about this

women views words like currency
where hurt is the apex of money
and the love and camaraderie
one a prisoner searches for in the cracks of his walls
is just a vehicle for the softening of the shell
one they've erected
after one too many 'you're my diamond"
when they're just feeling the pressure of one
well my words are gold, woman
and I tell you
you were born gilded
impervious to these poison laden speeches
where you were taught to hate your fellow girl
and to die for the man who kills you
they may speak all they want
but you will stand bold and ironclad with closed mouth
saving your last word for a rainy day

one time my dog brought me a squirrel he had half killed

and I stood staring at it quiver, half alive, with a baseball bat in my hand

dog barking and my ears shaking

and I couldn't bring myself to do it

I watched it die and laid its body adjacent to our creek

I will not be an angel of death

I want to taste the flavor her words again
Where she spoke sweet and left something sour in word
And it was salt in the wound and acid in the cut
She was my obesity
Now, I am half the man I used to be.

Caught you hiding in the little things
Like the written word
From that you cannot run
The crumbled letter once written so cold
now sits, smoldering at the depth of a trash can
and you lay there, smoke in nostrils and eyes watering
Until the brimstone and ash beckons
And you dig your hand into the refuse and waste
Pulling out the fire to ease the tears and cacophony
Only for it to wither in your hands
And you will lay there again
Eyes clear and white like lily of the valley
With vacant lungs and a yearnful demeanor
Wishing the burn would go away

I long to be an old woman
Fingers stricken by wrinkles and skin memory of past love
I want to gaze longingly into the Miamian sunset and ponder on missed chances
I want to make cheesecake a long forgotten friend i venture back to with fondness every fortnight or so
I want to fall into trivialities like bingo or muffin making
To die beach side and ancient so that blood memory awakens
And with my last breath ecstasy implodes and i become the last generation again
The clock isn't real
Its digits are manmade
And with it comes functionality like we are predestined to coup against
I will be your old lady
And you will be that soft, young ear that my razor blade lined drivel will fall against