M. Hank

Lying awake at midnight, watching as each blade of the fan spins around, one by one. My bed absorbs me as I think, "hey, maybe I should write something".

On the windowsill 

He sat, 

Staring at the sky, 

Writing words 

Known only in his head, 

Leaning against a reflection, 

Watching the moon, 

There are

So many things.

So many things

So many people

Want from me.

Is it too much to ask for a break?

Am I allowed to

Have a few seconds to myself or

Am I just a machine?

I don't believe in leaves in March

but here I am, showered full to bursting in May's nakedness

I didn't believe, but I knew the truth, they would come.

I rage,

I weep,

Life is like the marshmallow in the s’more

First you have to take one out of the bag

Then stab it on a stick

If you do it wrong

The marshmallow drops into eager flames

You can start over