Why I Write...

My horoscope said today was

my day to get through to the world.

Tiny brown ink

underside a metallic candy wrapper

told me

Melt someone today

also

You look good in red.

I'm singing this song

without the proper vocal precautions.

My mom likes a little love with her

coffee in the morning.

Poetry is a language

I can use in my travels.

My indecisive body often overtakes

my too-decisive heart.

Hate takes up too much space

"Here's one for the claustrophobic!"

If I do anything else

my stomach starts to ache and

I feel as if I may have disproportionately

swallowed a golf ball.

Once my cells became grains of sand

and I dug a whole inside myself,

I could only

dig

deeper.

The tear stains on this page aren't visible

but they are there.

Compliments fuel my dream

no more

than necessary

the price to move a left hand

over a common thought.

Its suddenly all I know.

Nothing compared haunts

like this

living

                        word.

The truth makes me write

and

I was made to write the truth.

Because I can.

Empty air threatens to push;

it deserves this low-rise cliff I occupy.

Insignificance

feels lonely.

I believe in so much more than what I capture.