poetry

the intensity of transformation

I’ve been holding this position

Breathing through it

For too long now.

Numb hands, Numb feet.

I look at you and

Decode your

Poker face,

Offer up some tangled

body language,

But you don’t see me.

“No release, no not yet”.

I project myself

Onto your body.

More tangled,

More numb,

Miserably,

Presuming,

Just tell me god

Is there a “yet”?

Tangled forever like

Clementines hair,

Like

My Hair in college.

I cut it all

Off though,

You know.

I’d rather be bald

A Hairless cat

Then tangled up,

Beautiful,

Waiting

Meekly

A dog with my

Leg in the air

Ashamed.

Standard

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