april means napowrimo...

mostly just weird freewrites for now.

#4

Hello tornado.
Wicked witch am I?
There are rainstorms in my joints,
spine,
and heart valves
or I'd dry up
maybe it's the diagnosis
to why I waterfall
so much,
but, personally,
I'd rather be buried
in a river
than a desert.

#5

It was one of those
I-know-this-won't-work-out
but-let's-play-anyway
(like we hadn't been
since my playgrounds)
I figured,
the inexperience was getting old
so we pretended to shallow away,
you were all inkwells
and microphones
and oops -
I pretended like giving a damn was
extra extra
read all about it,
that's just it, though.
Read
all
about
it.
Like how I'm too honest
with every soul
but my own.
See,
we both know this didn't start
when I learned how to line-break.
That I've been writing you
on my heart
since I could twirl pens like batons
the way some children
have friendship,
and I'm supposed to
freeze-tag a name on your collar
I'll settle for
lifeline.
You're the way I understand.
The way I learned to pray.
How to stand up for myself.
The fire to my winter solstice.
Language, you.

#6

The lines in your brow
matched the crevices
in your knuckles.
In a way,
you almost looked like the rarity
of an honest chapel,
so were you praying?
Were you panhandling for grace?
Or were you preparing
to stand and tumble-kick-fight
like wolves in my spirit.
Trust me,
I don't know what leprosy
is etched in the tiny canyons
of your portrait
but I hope you are not so strong
as to believe
(like I usually do)
that you're chasmed alone.