You said we could do anything
you were right
so why am I doing it alone
Slowly I fall apart
As this fight erodes
my layers of steel, stone and bone

Weathering away grains of time
Slip, slipping across the sky line
Awaiting the day when it's finally safe to say
goodbye

Did you know about my lockbox
Hidden deep within my dark
Kept safe for a rainy day
A hole perpetuated when you left
The time will be right
When nothing more is left to say

Weathering away grains of time
Slip, slipping across the sky line
Awaiting the day when it's finally safe to say
goodbye

You said we could do anything
Then why did I do it alone
When you let me fade into the cold

I did not wish to return to the light
On this last night the time was right
The line went dead
Nothing more was said
Oh lockbox
My only sweet friend
In the end
In the end

A lockbox keeps things inside, protected, stored away,
Safe from people who think they need to know what lies beneath
But what is hidden from sight must stay out of sight
For danger will arise if it is let out
People will become concerned if they peer into the wooden box
So shut it quick & tight!
Stuff it away in the back of the closet!
Never bring it out, they will try to mend it
You don't want it to be fixed.
No glue, tape or nails.
Nor therapy, advice, or. help of any.
The lockbox is my mind
And the horrors inside,
Well you will never know.

You ******, exotic,
Beautiful creature.

I could not be more intrigued by you.

I drove,
46 miles,
just to meet you,
you screamed at me for being late.
I wasn't.
I just live farther from your perspective than you can imagine.

I saw your face,
then I saw your eagerness,
Then I played this game,
Where I googled every word you said,
became an expert on it.
Throwing back refferences to things
i've never seen.

When I rolled in with my cigarette lit,
Sporting my badboy leather jacket,
you asumed I was this rebel.
This dangerous,
adventurous,
amazing creature.
Dropped onto this earth to entertain you.

Today.
That's exactlly what I am.

I'm 46 miles away from my home town.

My foam swords,
magic the gathering cards,
Dungeon and dragons playing self
Packaged tightly in the lockbox at my bedroom door.

The daddy, I became years ago
because I wanted too.

The lover I was raised to be,
watching nothing but romantic comedies my entire childhood
like some sort of propaganda to be the perfect boyfriend.
Tucked crisply into my bed.

My smolder is a gas mask.
you are the poison gas.
It was invented specifically for me to survive when I'm in the trenches with you.
My attitude is an army.
I hold myself like a commander shouting orders at my mind like it needs a leader.

“Stop calling her beautiful, maggot! She wants you to take charge.”

“Sir, yes sir!”

...So uh...
What do you wanna do today?

“What do you think you're doing?
Don't give her options!
Tell her where you're going!”

“Sir, yes, sir”

We're getting coffee.

We go to her favorite coffee house, I guessed.

She gets a nutella mocha.

I get a 16oz almond milk maple syrup latte

She calls me a hipster,
I laugh, I don't disagree.

I give her the radio,
“You pick the music”

“What do you think you're doing maggot!?”

“trust me,
we need to find out what music she likes before I play my music.
It's very important.”

I can pull brilliance out of any genre,
bands she's never heard of, but she'll fall in love with.
She plays show tunes.

Oh...

... Jackpot!

I start the conversation, you ever heard of Rocky Horror?

You ever hear of
Doctor Horribles Sing Along Blog?

You ever hear of
Little Shop of Horrors?

You ever hear of
Repo, The Genetic Opera?

You ever hear of
Hedwig and The Angry Inch?

She has.
All of it.
Every last word.
And she knows all of the words.
In fact,
every song I sing,
she sings along.
Word for word.

I  crack the whip,

you ever heard of Bo Burnham?

She has.

This girl might be the one.

“What do you think you're doing maggot?
Don't fall in love with this girl already,
Don't fall in love with this girl at all.”

“Sir, yes, sir”

We walk the beach,
Singing,
Dancing.
Every word of every song either of us start the other knows all the words.
She's breathtaking.
I can't believe it happened myself.
We chase each other in the sand.

I confess.

“You're actually the first person i've seen in real life from tinder...
I hear all these stories of couples meeting people for threesomes online and then murdering them.
I was half expecting you to **** me.”

She says:

“Well we didn't get to the end of the beach yet.”

I laugh.... wait... is she serious?

She laughs. “No really, i'm a sociopath.
My boyfriends waiting at the rocks down there and when we
Start to **** he's gonna jump out and slit your throat.
The redness of your blood spilling on the rocks is going to make me so,
*******,
Wet.”

This sounds like a great Idea.

She texts her boyfriend and asks if it's okay to kiss me.
When he doesn't reply she spams him.

Babe.

Babe.

C'mon Babe.

Really, Babe.

Babe.

Babe.

Babe.

It starts to rain,
We stay and get soaked together,
We don't care that we're wet, we keep singing.
The rain stops.
We get in my car.
I drive her to portland,
We park in the parking garage,
because i don't understand...
Signs...

I buy her dinner,

Not because it's the polite, gentlemanly thing to do,
I'd do that without the leather jacket, no.
because her sugar was low
she was having a panic attack
her boyfriend and her were probably breaking up and I felt bad.
Her boyfriend finally texts her back.

“Yeah, do what you want.”

I kiss her.

She asked me too before he gave permission, and my colonel said to do it

But I've been on the otherside of that text messege.

And even knowing what she wanted, I was waiting for that reply.
I don't know that boy.

But he deserved that

We go back to the parking garage, and she does not waste time,
My belt undone,
Her mouth eager,
Did I mention that this was the mission?
After awhile She asks to go to the back.
We do.
She removes the leather jacket.
this is her chance to wear
The leather jacket.
I make her ***,
I have this brief thought that maybe she faked it for me, but then
I can taste the truth,
I'm proud.


“Good job, maggot.”

“Sir, thank you, sir”


I drive the 46 miles back to kennebunk to drop her off.
She keeps my shirt.
I get home and find her phone charger in my backseat.
“Looks like we have a second date,"

I text her. “you forgot something, beautiful.
And I think you might want it.”

I feel like I am stumbling
Through a bad dream
With pieces of my mind
Scattered
All about
Searching desperately
To find them
It feels like a cruel joke
Someone hiding them
In a box
Under lock and key

Baffled this was a question you’d have to ask, I sat tremulous.  I’m insular; I’d be enamored with even the most amorphous love, but I’m not inept, and won’t preclude that answering the question is salient.  And although I’m not taciturn, I’m rarely extemporaneous, so please excuse my need for verbose prose in answering said question.
You’re attractive.  Your strong jaw, small chin and cheekbones were sculpted to make your own eyes glow and an artist’s eyes expostulate dreaming of anything else. Don’t dismiss this as delirium, but rather relish this recondite fact—my first crush came in the fifth grade.  It was on a diminutive, outspoken girl, and I was enormous and timid, which developed into a village girl vs. Mowgli, me Tarzan you Jane, King-Kong-Ann Darrow complex.  And although I believe with zealous fervor in your strength, your size still incites the young jungle boy inside me.  And I hope I can say, without being terse, I’m afflicted with a mysterious affinity for red-hair.  
Although I could dwell in the obvious all day, I’ll redirect from the blasé.

Abandon
beats within us both
like hearts to the same pulse,
we don’t coax smiles, we let them slip,
we aspire to happiness like falling of a log.
I have to pry open time’s lockbox and plunder
the night just to relegate the dawn.  Bliss becomes
a tangible ****** making even the most existentially
exasperated docile.  Knowledge that every other thought
is dominated by one another without it attenuating the magic.
Knowing that if all I have to say is it’s raining outside, you
want to hear it.  Twenty-one years of my life I thought
I’d have to hunt love with a knife but you showed me
roaming where you like to wander can wake
the irreverent gods.  It’s your superlative
honesty that’s only for me; that virile
smile in your eyes that bid
doubt vacate my mind

Knowing that if I went catatonic, one reproving look from you would cause my heart to break and force my hands to put the pieces back before I stopped breathing.  If I could, I’d dawn you like a blanket before every dinner, dusk and dream.  And most importantly, we both like crowns.

i came around this neck of town
with a few suppositions about scotland.
Its a little admittedly a little odd willingly picking and packing  up
to sail across the sky
despite the little itch
painted on the inside of my eyelids,
brain, reminding me of people to whom I wont speak again
until they’re once again immediately in front of me.

(which means I’m kind of **** at staying in contact, even with the internet at my disposal.)
but even as technology laces the textures of communication
I constantly find myself in silence,
misplaced somewhere between the pages and the covers,
happily nestled in a place just as cozy as the beds i find myself in these days.

and when you move, there’s obviously going to be a mildly upsetting adjustment period when people ask you out for coffee and small talk.
Which is always weird, being forced through that routine when both parties know it
inevitably takes a little more than a strong cup of coffee and an exchange of pleasantries to get to know somebody.
personally, i prefer the pleasant haze of sunlit leaves
a meander through a forest, the back alleys of trees.
If you want to get to know me, take me out of society.
those coffee spoons and sugar cubes don’t mean anything to me.

when you grow to know me, you’ll see that this beauty’s only used to
sacrifice the loneliness of these panic attack blues.
black jeans, black docs, redbull and a bag of green
help me fly above this city, over the changing loyalties
the mettle of this skeleton’s made of the brittle bones of birds,
my wings are composed of their bitter words, (and that’s just fine)
(because) i’ve a tar pit where my heart is/
and it drips to fill the space that makes an artist’s hearts harden

but behind that internal la brea, I’ve been aptly middle named
because ive got a kinder ray behind
that shines for those who choose to stay.
not only for those who choose to stay, but for those who allow me in as well;
its hard to let a stranger in, should they let your secrets out,
but i’ve got a lockbox for a memory because i don’t remember a lot of things
so rest easy knowing that your words are and will be safe with me.

I know
when I go
to that the place I called
home will still show
on the mail I get
but my heart
was left behind in a haze of partial memory
and leaves I won’t again see green until a tender summer’s eve.

but until then, i have 53c murray place, the locals to my scottish life,
to keep me sane, or at least humane before the leaves have fully changed and
fallen from the trees completely.
when thats happened, i’ll have to leave.  
I’ll have to leave the grey skies and lichen foundation
and a forest full of sympathizers  and former strangers.
i remember standing on the rooftop as the breeze blew below
yelling to the people who will never think to look above the street they know.  
Roger, if heaven has a cell for me too, i’ll rent that **** as a timeshare,
so i can make a pretty profit off the constant loss of my memories and endowed indemnity.
and chrissie, you’ve been a sister to me, a parallel sort of emily
thats going to make leaving this new family
all the more difficult.
and robbie, i’m an old soul, as only you’d know.
classical music in the afternoon to soundtrack an empty flat,
at least i know you’ll follow me soon after i go back.

i remember leaving the flat for the second time, when i was sure i knew my way around,
i saw clouds fit for an easel
and a sun fit for a screen
harboring glory in every pixel.
and during that walk home,
english, french and spanish disappeared,
and i took no notice,
while i go on revising the quiet days i never intend to publish.

You ******, exotic,
Beautiful creature.
I could not be more intrigued by you.

I drove, 46 miles,
to be screamed at for being late.

When I rolled in with a leather jacket
my lit cigarette,
you asumed I was this rebel.

Dangerous,
adventurous creature.

Dropped onto this earth
for your entertainment

That's exactlly what I am.
46 miles away from my home town.

My foam swords,
magic the gathering cards,
Dungeon and dragons playing self
packaged tightly in the lockbox
at my bedroom door.

Today, I am a persona poem.

My smolder is a gas mask.
you are the poison gas.

It was invented for survival
in the trenches with you.

I hold myself like a commander
shouting orders at my mind:

“Stop calling her beautiful, you maggot!
She wants you to take charge.”

“Sir, yes sir!”

...So uh...
What do you wanna do today?

“What do you think you're doing?
Don't give her options, Maggot!
Tell her where you're going!”

“Sir, yes, sir”

We're getting coffee.
her favorite coffee house

She gets a nutella mocha.
I get a 16oz almond milk maple syrup latte

She calls me a hipster,
I laugh, I don't disagree.
I give her the radio,

“What do you think you're doing maggot!?”

“trust me,
we need to find out what music she likes."

Show tunes.
Light bulb.
Rapport jackpot.

you ever heard of Rocky Horror?
Doctor Horribles Sing Along Blog?
Little Shop of Horrors?
Repo, The Genetic Opera?
Hedwig and The Angry Inch?

“What do you think you're doing maggot?
Don't fall in love with this girl."

“Sir, maybe, sir”

We walk the beach,
Singing showtunes
we know all the words.

“You're actually the first person
I've seen in real life from tinder...
I hear all these stories
couples meeting online
Getting murdered
I was half expecting you to **** me.”

“Well we didn't get to the end of the beach yet"

.... wait... is she serious?

"My boyfriends waiting
at the rocks down there
when we Start to ****
he's gonna jump out
slit your throat.
The redness of your blood
spilling on the rocks
is going to make me so,
*******,
Wet.”

"... I
.."

She texts her boyfriend
asks to kiss me.

Babe.
Babe.
C'mon Babe.
Really, Babe.
Babe.
Babe.
Babe.

I drive to portland in the rain
We park in the parking garage
There was free on street parking
but I don't
Understand...
Parking Signs...

“Good job, maggot.”
“Sir, yes, sir”

I drive the 46 miles back to kennebunk to drop her off.

She keeps my favorite shirt
because it smells like me.

when I get home.
I find her ******* in my backseat.

“You forgot something, Maureen"
when do we Tango again?

"When you pay my Rent,
You smug *******."

3:38am

Being trapped in a corner
Where everything stops
And simultaneously
Comes crashing down in a torrent of voices.
Echoing the same self loathing
That you beat every day, and lose to every day.

Looking desperately for a way out
Ready to sell your soul to the wrong buyer
For a quick gratification
Or just a way out.

Boxed in

Cave in, but can’t save him.

Jerking in his sleep but it’s not working

It won’t stop. His head is unlocked
Because he left his keys out of the lockbox

Struggling to breathe.
It’s only been 3 minutes

4.

5.

And then everything stopped.

And he became numb again.

Still twitching. Still feeling it.
 But buried.
Ice over the water’s surface

I think the Moon knows
I'm watching Her
Because sometimes,
                           She leaves me presents
It may sound silly
But I've got a jar full of Her secrets
That I keep in a lockbox under my bed
The pass code; Luna
So I'll praise Her title
Each time I uncover
The hidden gifts She's given to me

Purified droplets of moonlight.

The size of a jewel
The weight of a diamond
The glow of an angel
The shine of a star

The Moon probably knows
I'm watching Her
Because sometimes,
                            I find a drop
In the bud of a flower
Sometimes,
                  in the pit of a well
Sometimes,
                  in the cave of an animal
Sometimes,
                  in the crack of a rock
Sometimes,
                  in the hollow of a tree
Sometimes,
                  in the current of a stream
And on the rarest of occasions
I'll find Her lodged between the pages
Of my notebook

I've collected a dreams worth of gems now
So whenever I find myself,
                                       Lost.
- Swallowed by the void -
I'll have enough moonlight in my jar
To ignite the darkest of days
And the presence
                             of Her presents
Will go unnoticed by no shadow
Or creature of the night.

Luna knows I'm watching Her.

I'll continue to gaze from below
And let no stone go unturned
So when the Moon drips again
I'll be there to catch Her
Another crystallized droplet of a blessing
To tuck away
In the box under my bed.

I am walking for escape
Silence, darkness

It is sudden. Sound of
two-by-fours smacking grain
lit up in the distance,
                       the street

Maternal scream mistaken for
coyote howl, sticky-tongued
lamentation filling the space,
                       lockbox

Grey matter spilling
the street for a
beggar's mouthful

I could make known my notice
Or leave his peace at asphalt
rocking skull-bone;

marrow cut loose: free

Insecurities

All fit for security

To our own frailties

I remember my life avalanching on a ***** of no particular location worth remembering
I recall the fire of our love fading and embering
The hot coals of your soul turning black with the breeze
That swept over the car as you tore a life apart
I remember wishing to tear out my heart
If I could only take it from your lockbox of love
Where I misplaced all my trust
You would sprinkle on your fairy dust
Explaining how it's best for us
Even how I should've known this was coming
These god forsaken legs won't start running
Better to bear the brunt of your blade slowly slicing two lives from one
I remember my life avalanching on a ***** of no particular location worth noting
I remember you walking into my life but can never recall you going

the curiouser
wants to know things

like:
how many times
I've curled the edges
of that holy mouth

how many flutters
almost caved the roof
on that blood-red lockbox

how many times we've climbed
each other's walls, coming down
on soft dew clouds
inside your mind

and
how many times

you held yourself shaking
when I wasn't there

these things matter
to me

and I wish
I could overlay

my parallel trend line

Go down the hall
Make a left
Go down that flight of stairs.
Alright, good.
Now you see that dark hallway on your left?
Good, go down it and take the first left.
You're now in a room. You see that black door directly in front of you?
Open it.
Now go down that flight of stairs and behind them, you'll see a lockbox.
That is where my secrets are. That's where they will stay until I trust you enough to let you in.
Alright now go back up the stairs, close the closet door, leave the room you were in- dont forget to close that door too. Go back through the same dark hallway BUT WAIT! Don't go up the stairs- make a right and go down the hallway that's brightly lit. I want you to walk up the stairs that you see as well, then open the door. What do you see? It's beautiful isn't it?
Don't you see?!
The dark hallway where you keep your secrets is the depth of your soul. You have to go "down the dark hallways and down the stairs" to dig deep within your soul where your secrets are. On your way to your soul you make all lefts there. Only because when you head to the bright hallway and go up the stair case you're always turning right. You're going to something beautiful and peaceful- and that's the RIGHT thing to do when the time is RIGHT.
Moral of the story is, it's okay to not open up to certain people. You will find the RIGHT one to open up to.

the center
of The Universe
and
the center
of
nowhere
at all.

This city...

Saint Joseph,
Missouri.

like an apartment
complex
or
a cul-de-sac
built by
The Hand of
God,
right
in the
bottom
left-hand drawer
of The Devil's
bill-paying
desk.

we walk
our dogs
on
long leashes
making sure that
they can ****
in our neighbor's
yard.

we cultivate
red-state
politics
and blue-plate
specials,
complaining
that our crime-rate
and our cholesterol
are too high.

we're the tenderloin
capital
of the world;
and we closed
the door
on that debate
as well as
several
others.

once,
not that
long ago,
we put it
to a vote,
whatever
it was...

it hardly
matters
anymore,
but only
18%
said: "aye"
and only
37%
said anything
at all.

the ballots
must've been
kept in the
lockbox

in the
bottom
right-hand drawer
of
The Devil's
bill-paying
desk.
*

-JBClaywell

Thumb, thumb in this earth –
I could fit my entire soul in there instead of apple-fetuses!
Perhaps purée the soil down like a lockbox
and give it to my love to unpack
for when I age, it gets too big, I must rise again from dust.

I am lockbox full of mystery
I embrace that every second

People come, inviting themselves in
Fumbling with their key ring
Ever so set to open me up.

People go, out the door with harsh words
Offended that I dared to guard myself
Always so angry in the end.

I want to spill out, to share my words
I want to fill your fantasies with mine

But the time it takes, is not for everyone
Don't go steal my secrets and end up on the run

Train of dreams, where do you lead?
Slumbering visions, I do not see.
A future guided by uncertainty
Clouded clarity, oxymoronic ambiguity

A set path banded by wood and steel
Is this what I'm reduced to?
Lockbox of emotions that which I feel
Shades of gray, gloom pupil hue.

Can I not change this fate?
Going from point A to B,
The heart dislikes, becoming irate.
Mind throwing a mutiny, a firm decree.

Destiny is truly a funny thing.
You can always build a new rail
You're your own conscious being,
So your train shall never derail.

I have roamed the earth now
For many or so odd years
Longing for acceptance
And the audiences cheers

I listen for the pin to drop
Hear the worlds smallest violin
As I scream out from the rooftop
“Someone, let me in!”

It takes courage and conviction
You're bound to fail before you win
A persons heart is like a lockbox
Someone please just let me in!

I won't make you any promises
There are tears that will be shed
Even the bravest of the brave
Dealt with the doubt inside their head

Some days the strong are weak
Other days the weak are strong
It's those who persevere the most
That get to right their wrongs

There's hurt that cuts much deeper
The nagging pain that won't subside
It's then we stare into the face of fear and shout...
It's GREAT to be alive!

Break free from all your armor
Allow yourself to shine
Take in all earths beauty
You'll be amazed by what you find.

Love and peace in purest form
A colors' vibrant hue
Knowledge and understanding
From every point of view

That's when the cheers grow louder
That's when the pain goes numb
When we listen to ourselves
That's when our victory is won.

I would that you could see
The twinkle of the stars above
As the wind sweeps through the trees
In a night warmed by summer.

I would that you could hear
The crinkling, crackling bonfire
That burns in a wildflower-filled field
As the crickets sing their own song.

I would that you could taste
The sweet strawberry wine
I left to age for days, just for this night,
In a brown flip-top bottle.

I would that you could do
So many things like these,
For that would mean
You were still here with me.

That would mean I hadn't stood
Alone on that hill in the Northwest
In the bone-chilling ache of winter
Watching them lower you down.

That would mean I haven't lost
Days, weeks, months, and years,
To the sepia-toned fading memories
Stored away in a lockbox in my mind.

That would mean
*So many things to me.

There you are
Quiet
Still
A smile
Light

A red thread
Links us
Heart to heart
Soul to soul

There I am
I feel as though
I can breathe
For the first time
In months

Each moment feels
Effortless
Unrestrained
Insecurities forgotten
Safe

You are a lockbox
A safe room
Comfort
And ease
Reprieve from dark places

My words float to you
And I know they are
Treasured
Secure
Guarded

My gratitude
Knows no end

She knows not
that I put that piece of my heart away
inside of a lockbox that day
that I put the key in a bottle
sealed it and left it to float out to sea

I hope that bottle returns to me one day
with a note inside that says
Come back to me
and love me again
It's time to come home

I thought about you so much
that I felt like I was inundated
in the deepest realms of your dreamland,
touching you so tenderly like you were a rose petal,
becoming concealed in your lustrous lockbox,
my heart unable to cease these feelings
that I have for you,
how you enkindle my limbs
with the strength of your existence,
tingling,
entangled in the sultry spaces
if your purely artistic creation.
I could make incredible waves
with the magic in my mind
as I dived inside to embrace
your penetrating escape,
to gaze at the grand and enchanting scenery,
creating infinite memories to remember,
such anticipation and gravitation
in your ethereal plantation,
my flesh going wild in your lucid flames.
I yearned for your impassioned words
packed with polychromatic adjectives, adverbs, and verbs,
how I madly burned, tossed, and turned,
so eager to be sheathed in your love language,
in your streaming swagger,
in your flourishing thick and black dreads
that hung past your impressive pecs,
becoming trapped inside your striking empire,
your dynamite rhymes devouring me,
every inch of my system
lost in your elixir of rich, sun-warmed honey.
You were a strong and thrilling seducer,
distinctly domineering, staring me down
as you orchestrated the most expansive,
romantic jams inside my cells,
your full, fresh lips so ripe to be kissed,
to feel like I’m hovering in cosmic space,
sited around abundantly beautiful Venus
and upbeat Uranus,
the hunger in me wishing for you
to bang my body into submission
with your thunderous engine.
I could love you unapologetically,
guide you into the shower, turn on the running water
as I gathered and lathered a rag
with a great smelling Axe Bodywash,
softly scrubbing your wet flesh,
making sure I covered every part of your body.
And as I dried you off with a clean white towel,
rubbing Dove deodorant under your arms,
comb your beard, and brush your wonderfully, wavy hair,
I wrapped your head up with your stylish black durag.
I trimmed your nails and fingernails to a flawless finish,
leading you into the bedroom
to lie down in our king-size bed,
pulling the sheets back as we took off our clothes
and got in bed, covering ourselves up,
then caressing you, kissing your favorite places
as we soon drifted off to sleep,
taking care of my man for as long as I live.

girl in your salty apparition
drastic ammunition
posed for the dreary mood of the camera screaming slurs on
television
withheld by the standards of creation

poor girl
the daughter of society’s atrocities
you have synchronized heart failure
with the darkness
the desert sand engulfs you
it transports you into the hyperbolic grasp of reality

girl and your insatiable hunger to be bigger than the swords that chop off your limbs
you are the choices you make
you are the friends you make
you are the opportunities you take
you are the you that you are terrified of
the you that shines with red blood dripping from her fangs
the you that violates the system
the you that ingests chemicals so she can feel whole
the you that has been burned to the ground

girl in the danger zone that is your lungs
your venomous victimhood
encroaches on your meaning to exist
yet in spite of your crestfallen volition
you can divorce
the misnomers
you can transform
into a creature that looms over your sorrow
and pecks away at its core

girl in the heart, mind, body, and flesh
be the force of nature you couldn’t stomp out
be the ammunition that locks and loads and explodes
stop the premonition of an incoming battle
lock your jaw and
connect the fragments of your stricken language
yet don’t harden the hit on the clambering back
of the man who keeps all of his power
locked in a lockbox
don’t form a coalition
and strike his shoulder
with bleached eyelids
alike colluded soldiers following orders    

girl with your soggy teardrops
it will all be over
and the summer will hold you
with both of its arms
and you will embrace
not shortly, for a long period of time
and you 𝘄𝗶𝗹𝗹 know love
and you 𝘄𝗶𝗹𝗹 be acknowledged
and you 𝘄𝗶𝗹𝗹 be reborn from the ashes
phoenix,
though the trees will topple onto your highways
and the stars might seem light years away
you’ll get there someday
and when you do
i will withhold you in the ecstatic standards of creation
you 𝘄𝗶𝗹𝗹 abandon the reprises
you 𝘄𝗶𝗹𝗹 sing in the opera
you 𝘄𝗶𝗹𝗹 adopt a new method
and divest the old
screeching with indignation
your shaky hand will greet another and
you 𝘄𝗶𝗹𝗹 fall in love
either with the affairs of your unkept emotions
or with a kind individual who promises you stability

be freed from your chains
and set off into the horizon
the you that you are
rose from the ashes
you are the you that you always were