Friday, December 11, 2015


If I were to slice my arms 
from wrist to elbow
the only thing that would
spill out
would be
all the words
I was too afraid to use

You see
I am
too rash
and too brash
and too much of a
pain in the ass
for your china shop heart

I am the bull that charges
when I see red
and red is
after all
the color of love

But I cannot afford
to pay any more
for all the damage
I leave behind

And I have given away
all my best words
verbed all my best nouns
down to stunted nubs
and spoiled my soil
until nothing will grow
in my scar-line rows
and empty fields

So don't ask me
to slice myself
open again

because I will
but I don't want to

You cannot have my words

I need them

For me