He was a toad catching flies
Except that with each lashing of his tongue
He pulled down aircraft
And long could be heard their cries:
Blessed be, Amphibian Creator!
Death to America!
Frog is greater!

i remember the taste of metal in my mouth,
the warmth and the pain of
turning my fiery words
into mountains of ash
years of biting my tongue,
wanting to scream,
yet the smoke chokes my lungs

Tickling upon my skin
I feel myself bloom
As roots find themselves
Twisting, weaving within soul
Open my hands, palms up
I let the petals gather
Flourishing upon my tongue
I am my own garden
Find myself wandering within myself
For hours

To peel off your soft skin, mold it
into armor, let the blood gush out
until it fills your cup, and you gulp it in
as medicine; to pluck out your silenced
tongue, watch it slither across blank
pages, as it paints them scarlet-sweet
like your heart; to **** the trauma, bury it
under words, but make it immortal
on the same paper.

Some may say that the greatest treat in life is candy;
the temptation of its sweetness longingly lingering on the tongue,
an unsung reliever.
But temptation itself is the only true greatest treat;
the red heat carried through all senses,
marked as the sweetest sin.