knots like pretzels

everything is in boxes in my mother’s house in my father’s house in the back of my trunk different things in each of them books and vinyl jesus, innocence, mirrors paintings that my little brother and sister made for me at school and i can’t find my journal in any of them i didn’t used to have to tie strings around my pinkies to remind myself to breathe in words i used to write too much with ink smears tattooed on the side of my left hand i carried it around sucking on my fingers tasting the poetry drip from my mouth like sticky mango juice and people read it and my muses hated me and i didn’t even have to try

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Written by

madisen

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