I use lines and metaphors to hide
something real-
it’s hidden in the words
deep between the pages
and everyone finds something different.
Love, death-life, or a stress free image to carry them off to sleep-
sleeping in the comfort of my tree house hiding
from what is real-
keeping in what made me who I was-
the lines and the metaphors convert
the troubles and the texture of daily wear
into something
tolerable.
I could tell you my day was shit
or that the Nile came past my knees and swept me away before being rescued by a somber of breath.
It’s safe in this tree house-
built with pages of forgotten poems and fiction ideas
characters that crawl in my dreams
turning them into nightmares.
I want to stay here-
they don’t deserve this life-
freedom is what my children need
I’ll swim the Nile for them-
break down these trees that supported my fears
and housed my heart.
