Writing

well 

it’s November already

how does the time pass so quickly?

just a month ago, i was in a toxic relationship

now i have the girl of my dreams

just a month ago, i was screaming and crying to the wind

hushed murmurs, a squeaking chair

low mmms and ahhhs and snaps

and a poet standing dead center to begin dissection —the act of pulling out an intestine to test the color for ink

I saw a photo

Of you when you still had hair

Brown, nothing

Special, that hair was.

I forgot what you looked like

With hair that didn’t come off when you traded it

For a hat.

Black threads interlaced. 

Buttery seams–

The feel of dreams.

Baggy enough,

enough to be fitted.

Sprawled on the marley floor,

Each pulse of my heart 

tugs a string of my soul,

The pressure on your chest weakens as the craft gradually decelerates to a halt, and you find all the mass has been pulled out of you, leaving only your volume.

art is love and love pushes through.