this faucet is about
to burst open
and leak blood
and i honestly feel like
i have fucked up too
many times to count
i have fucked up too
many times to forgive
myself and i don’t
understand how i am able to
live inside this body and able to
live with these mistakes and
trudge through mud that glues my boots into place
and somehow still get somewhere.
i am amazed at how far i can walk,
disgusted by how much mud i am covered in.
Tag: shitty poem
the past is
the past is passed.
and i know i need to stop
looking through the binoculars backwards,
but for some reason
i keep seeing little flecks of you
in the glass when i look through my windshield,
and i wonder if it’s your reflection from behind me.i see you laughing. i want to
be the reason for that laugh,
to be next to you so i can hear it.
but i know it’s
something she said
that’s so funny,
and that you’ve already forgotten
the way i snort when i laugh.
she doesn’t snort when she laughs.
i wonder if you like that better.i wonder if you wish you could hear me
laughing too.
i wonder if you’ll see a photo of me in a hot air balloon
in August and wish you had been there to hold my hand
as i looked over the edge because you know
my fear of falling
from great heights.