Little changes are adding up like the
Drip drop of water that pools in the bathroom sink
from a rusty metal tap not quite stoppered.

And I am glad it is opened.

I am glad to look up from the little pool of changes turned large
To flick my eyesight skywards and head on into the mirror that steams up with condensation as I breathe

and I'm me

I breathe, and I know I am alive.
I look in this mirror and just like all the water droplets I see all the changes

And they're in me.

The tap is gushing freely since the day I took control
I took residence in the drivers seat and found the courage to twist the metal between my fingers and let it be how it is to be

And I am healthy

I see lights in my eyes again
I see a shine in my hair
I see new length to it too
I see clothes chosen with flair

I see colour flood my skin and a smile that shows teeth
I see red painted lips and weight off my hips
I see confidence in my stance, upright and straight
I see peace and tranquility less smothered by hate

But most of all, and finally
I see what I have always wanted
I see, and I know that if I am not free
I am soon to be

(I see recovery.)

A rainbow ignites
result of a love affair
between sun and rain
only to be cast away
When thunder lightning play.

she studies the history of colors
in a building that
lacks it
i study garbage tossed on
the side of the street
and worn out faces on the
city bus
i write simple words in
a coffee stained notebook
she writes long, complicated
sentences, elaborate
explanations, provides examples
on crisp white paper
Font size 12
Ariel Black

she asked me what
do i do?
and i said i am a hostess at a restaurant
but hopefully, one day,
i’ll get to sit around
and do nothing
when she left, i thought
our exchange went
smoothly
the next morning i heard
she said our conversation
was awkward

Why is the primal
question.

This was written one
week primary
to the real
encounter:

Language difference
enables my poignant
ponderings to
hide among
pink puffy tonality
of your beloved
mother's tongue. To
dwelve smooth and
constructively
conducted within
your howlin'
domesticated
vowels. I so
become wonder
writer smitten
softly,
touched
by pleasant words
of other writers.
Not suffering.
As I do
in my
original
vaccinity
of no
distance.
Clouds and thunder
collapse into my
deepest core. Tearing
me there at non
acceptance. I tear my
poems. And throw them
into the abyss. Of no re
turnin'.

there is no color for regret
this fist of hindsight clenched in my stomach
sitting heavy, firm and uneasy

i can't paint over this lingering, wholesome sorrow
splashed in my lamentable eyes

the agony is blind and cannot feel its way out of this dark corridor
the uneasiness is more real than the feeler

repentance is stuck in my teeth and gnaws at my tongue
discomfort catches its fingernails on the chalkboard recesses of the past

regret

regret

the neon open sign flickers and its fumes are toxic