god, please
i just want to breathe
in the written and the unsaid
again

teach me
to speak in ink and lines
teach me to
string songs in the silence of the mind
and paint colors in strokes of black
i recognize

i miss tracing rain on paper with the tip of a fountain
pen
i miss painting red at 4 am
i miss hearing thunder at the turn
of a page
i miss screaming truth in margin space

and i miss how these demons are a little
beautiful
when caged between spiral spines
and pretty poetry