tigerheart

In a room
of her own 

inside me
she paces 

the one 

who is not
Mother.

That restless movement
while uncomfortable 
is preferred
to when 

she goes still.

Stone still
Hard as
when provoked
regardless, 

by child or man.

Remember,

she is not mother.
She is not anybody’s 

anybody;

and when she goes still

I feel capable of anything,
an unfeeling terrifying free falling
Anything.

So 

I draw her back

into her room 
hand her a cup
of something

and can only return to my life
when assured 

she will not
follow me out.

 I just can’t

be

bothered 

to look for the thing

you’ve hidden 

he wants to sit comfortable in any chair he chooses

if he decides the bed is a chair, he should be allowed to sit on it, no questions asked

if he decides your head is a chair, he should be allowed to sit on it, no questions asked

you open your mouth

HEY

no

would you look at

sidewalk flowers

and say,

they will never amount to anything 

stuck

you are asking too much of me

but to say "you are asking too much of me"

to you

and expect you to not take it personally

would be

asking too much of you

so

Relentless

When I think of the countless photographs 
taken over years and years 

what was the purpose

capturing what exactly

and why

as this thought nestles in

it punctures my lungs

painful

how can one hold time

worse than sand

ridiculous

I miss him

but he is right next to me
ready to wake any minute

crying to say
“I need you, I love you, you are my everything”

Now tell me how that’s not addictive as fuck