Quagmire of emotion.
Walls, tumbling down.
The dam breaks,
the chasm overflows.
Lilac and gooseberries.
You watch as I unfold
Flower petals brushing the wood
floors I stand upon, barefoot
Dusty with my voice box
but easy with my overflow
I can map my body
I can connect the dotted lines
of my freckles
point to what hurts
trace the parts that feel like sun
here is my river water
here are the eroded rocks
here are all the things I want to become
and am becoming
watch my telephone wires fall to the asphalt
then rise back up again, reconnected
I can bend myself backwards
while maintaining eye contact
do you know how many leaves
must fall from an oak before it is bare?
I am always giving myself away
to the cloud dust
to the seashells
to the places I have never been but lust
after in the dark of the night
pouring over images of mountains and streams
cacti, flocks of birds, bright painted buildings
there was once a girl that wrote a story
and in it, we were looking underneath lilypads
and her words were pretty and emotional and right
but you are real
you are not mist rising over a field
you are firmly present, planted, happening.