I have been away from
myself for summers
waiting for my blood to feel right
the way it does before I’m ready to ache in ways I can’t carry myself
- that moment where you feel all of what your life left you -
those shards of glass you still carry
up your sleeve or in your pocket
for when you’re ready to
need it
The way I need to write
but I’m too afraid to empty
myself
the need to suffocate(s )
me
to a whimper
a scream
I cannot let out
without
unraveling momentarily
too
One can not strive for control and to write honestly