Light poetry

I realized that I don't write light poetry
It is all fireplaces and smog and oak and leather
I don't write with sunshine and meadows and wheat
My poems are for journals
Not diaries
My spooks are for seances
Not slasher-gore
I write for the final girls and the ghosts of boys
I don't write for accountants or stay at home fathers or nurses
I write for chimney sweeps and gravediggers and traveling merchants and teenage girls
My words twist and knot and are not meant to be gulped whole
But chewed
Pulverised, dissected, distracted, torn apart with canines and molars
I do not write for doctors but for old and gnarled psychiatrists 
I do not write for adults 
My poems all belong to children
People who are perpetually stuck between a rock and a dead fish
Runners who started the race a few paces behind
I write for "do you have a plans" and safety scissors and books under the covers
I write in restricted sections of the libraries and beneath beds at midnight
My poetry is not feathers and air and breezes
My poetry is bones and magnets and bricks