i feel sad at 11:56 when ive had
cups of coffee
the sadness lives in the back of my neck
the pit of my stomach
behind my eyes
it's the uncomfortable impression carpet leaves on every palm that holds weight for too long
feet cold enough to feel
lump in my throat

Forming my mouth into a smile seems like the world's biggest, most useless lie
Useless.
I still haven't cut my nails
they are nice reminders of my own anxieties
my palms haven't made up their minds--
whether they should stay or go
stay and hold

who knows if this is art
i can't seem to think
analytically
rationally
clearly

but i know i want to be smaller

I know i shouldn't want that

I know I miss her.

I don't know how.

12:09 and it's dark
I am s[o confused]ad

I flew across the ocean to somewhereI
ne verwasbefo re.
I stopped in different airports
different countries different people different Air
Off the plane. Outside
Finally.
The air cushioned my lungs
;reassurance

The city the towns the country
everywhere. I was Home
more than ever before.
Dialect adopted my speech

The earth fed my peace
The clouds drifted serenity my way.

like a wool sweater you warmed only parts of me.
the rest you left naked to the harsh reality,
in the wind

She was there like the cloud
that moved in front of the sun to block the glare from
your eyes
You could tell she saw everything.
She was alone
And she was good at it.
But you saw her hesitate
when she stopped to buy a candy.
You saw her, across the store, pace
back and forth--
with small little steps, rocking
back and forth,
to build up enough momentum to make her decision.
She glanced around for no one to see.
You could see her walk with confidence.
The way she looked at everyone like she was reassuring herself.
She sat by the bus stop, alone.
And you saw her.

If you love me,
don't you ******* dare let me go.
Because I am worth the fight and I will be responsive.
If you love me, if you ever liked me, ever saw something there,
let's make something. plow a field with hard work and throw away mis-communications like stones
sow trust with tiny seeds and let it be. Let it grow.
But if you love me, listen.
Don't ******* throw me away

As I'm writing this
all I'm thinking of are the pauses
between your words when you stop to wet your
mouth with the disregard of others'
thoughts.
I think of the pauses the people on tv take
They've made those silent but how they shape our lives has become Louder

The pauses in my sister's words are deliberate. because she
can not speak toofast    t o o  f a r   too out of hand
about the things she cares for.
Her words are Broken by the slow sounds of
A mouth closing and
opening others to her opinions closing
them to their own.

I hear my mouth
I hear the way breath skids over my lips like a body being dragged
behind an old pickup.
I hear my mouth make wet noises and
I ask myself how to be dryer
I ask myself why I breathe like I do
because my Living isn't supposed to be a statement.
My life isn't supposed to interrupt
anyone else's.

All I'm thinking of
is that your pauses
interrupt my life.

I can taste the burned cinnamon that coats the air
with a bitter film,
a coarse tang.

I smell the smoke and believe it or not all smoke smells the same to me
this smoke from cinnamon bread smells like when i burned pineapple and sugar.
this smoke smells like the time I lit too many candles with the window down, door closed, smoke alarm off
Smells like burnt anything
Tastes like natural want.