Slaves love the weight, what’s a feather without a date to write it with?
I love the bones, I hate the flesh, I run for death.
He speaks the longest miles, all of his verbs smile. I carry the heaviest laugh & we watch it blow down all the leaves. His trees -Are nowhere near the roots I hold. He sees gold & I’m an old soul. I sit and scrape this bowl, everything I need I refuse to feed.
He’s not mine. All my time’s erupted to the sky and his eyes light my world with lies watching birds fall not fly, Singing their song of sighs.
Memory: I remember loneliness, so dark, so sticky, I couldn’t even use holy water to cut the grease.
Memories of: anorexia, loss of my dad, a lover. I read this poem now and feel tremendous strength. I was trying to survive when I first wrote this and now I’m blossoming everyday. Rapid bloom of happiness, hope, abundancy.