I burn to release,
send cigarette tips moving
but my cursive isn't fast enough and
these cognitive process don't know
the difference between knowledge,
and losing my past.
When I stare like some tree,
uneducated, not giving its trunk
for a traveller's back, I realize
my heart is flooding over
because I haven't sobbed
over pinched ribs and self-destructive
nails in years...
and with one solitary teardrop
I could be unwound.
*written December 6, 2012. Wasn't sure what to write about but wrote this in between classes at the end of the day, I just had to get confusion out.
