One hundred and seven pennies under my tongue
From all the times you never cared for my thoughts
Swallowing them up
Left a metallic taste in my mouth
Bitter
Reminiscent of the blood I ****** off my dripping skin
From your words of indifference that cut deep
Into my soft poet’s heart, that aches to be set free
These rusty coins sit in my throat
Tastes sour

I wander for water to quench my thirst
Searching for the perfect words, a secret key
When an empty book calls to me
The lady at the counter says one hundred pennies, please
I feel my throat tighten, resisting release
This little book silently promises ease
This
Tastes sour
But fills the depth of my desire
To be known completely
An intangible hug warms my body
Wrapping my heart in a hazel aura
Guiding me Home

Now my trustee black book with a broken spine and pages filled
Calls to me from time to time
Frees the songbird from my ribcage
And ignites a fire in my mind
Squeezing creative juices from my right side brain
A golden energy trickles down my spine
And through my fingertips
Flowing like honey through my ball point pen
Onto a blank canvass
That begs
To know me better
To hear my words
It lets me purge
These thoughts with no resistance

The white space of a turned page
Offers a pillow for my tired eyes to close
And invites my imagination to wake up
And paint vivid colors with my words
I speak so fluently in this cursive tongue, now
It keeps me sane so I remain
With my soul between its pages

Tucked into an embrace of solace
These words float from my brain
And every thought becomes ingrained
In these pages,
That glisten with my copper-colored word *****
Each corner bathing in my tears and my fears and my freedom
Reflecting passion poured from a piercing hot artist’s kiln
Critiqued by no one

This is a poet’s chant
And one by one,
I spend my pennies
To be heard
On this medium of acceptance
As you too, Deserve