the only good thing that comes out of a bad break up is good poetry. if been sketching my head trying to understand why God uses these hands to write art that curls at the tongue. some days i’m no good at it other i’m left crying over the sink blood dripping from my mouth from biting my tongue trying not to scream the words out of the box springs i hid so deep in my throat. in school they called me chatty cathy you would never see me without a mouthful to say i didn’t know this was bad until i was made to feel that way. i stopped talking the older i got focused on writing and before i knew it my legs were shaking at the words i was molding. my eyes have always been fixated on the brighter colors but these days it’s all grey. your absence has drained me but not these words.