Poetry · Writing


I don’t write for your piece of mind

for the ability to see inside my soul

and lodge picket fences into my feet

and address your opinions to my doorsteps.

I’d burn my inbox to the ground before

it’s flooded with your Noah letters

and trademark concerns

and a nightly Skype request.

Maybe I used to write for you,

to hear about the trickle of smiles

that you run to achieve

and the feeling of us touching.

Now, it’s for me,

you can still feel with me and grasp

my heart inside your hands like a tiny puppy

but it’s still mine.



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