Tiny Roots

I am not

   tall

not jack and the

giant growth spurt,

been small bean

tiny roots my

whole life.

I am

adult child

tippy toes to kiss

those who turn

their cheek every time.

I am not

sunny enough for

anyone to live off me.

I am

9:30 pm

blacked out drunk

photo in front of

my university’s chapel

because I never remember

when I find god

or if I ever

really did.

I am

that last bit of

cough syrup you saved

for the day you

got better,

the autosave

on google drive

before your laptop fucks you

and crashes in the middle

of your midterm paper.

I try my hardest

to make you better,

keep you intact,

but I can’t change

why you needed me

in the first place.

I am not

made right,

cookie crumbles

instead of melt in your

mouth.

I am hard

to swallow.

151 christening

the back of my throat

while you whimper

after one shot of

strawberry lemonade svedka.

That’s sangria to me, that’s

water

to me.

I promise you

I will teach you how

to chug,

how to make wince

look like wink

look like smooth

waterfall thunder

crashing into gut

as long as you

are willing to open throat.

I am not

batten-down-the-hatches

outdoor basement lock

I am

panic room,

all the food and drink

you need in me.

I am plentiful.

I am enough.

Sometimes

I am too much.

I am the

over drinker the

too stoned the

too much fight

too much love

not enough balance.

I am

clumsy.

Not enough equilibrium

between my ears

maybe that’s why I am

Queen of Miscommunication

Queen of Misunderstandings

Queen of “Can you

say that again? I

didn’t quite hear you.

I am drowning

through waves of

something that looks a lot

like water but it

burns good enough to

quench”

I am

masochist disguised as

train wreck,

I needed an excuse

to be in the hospital

just to check out

of life for a few days,

lay in bed for a few days

feel too small

to go to work for a few days

because I am

tired of having to act big

seem tall

when I am

small bean

tiny roots

have been my whole life.

But I am

starting somewhere,

I am growing

going somewhere.

I am

just waiting for

the next rainfall

to wash away these

pesticides.

I am waiting

for the day I become

balanced and

I can stand up without

bumping into some

other clumsy part of me,

I can look at her

and ask her why she’s still

here because

I am

here now.

I am

plentiful.

I am

enough.

This poem is about: 
Me

Comments

hippiegypsyraynedance

This was absolutely beautiful. Your flow is incredible.

alyssabayley

Wow thank you so much!!

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