And it was some kind of poetry
That spilled from my heart before
Jumbled and messy
Like back when I was four
Or perhaps that was fourteen
All the world before me
Always using someone else’s wings
Mine too broken and dirty
Lift me up, lay me down to sleep
For these forgotten words I weep
They were songs and poems
Fairytale and stories
That my heart dreamt while sleeping
And my hands wrote while daydreaming
And oh, as I remember them
Soft and sweet like a lullaby
Maybe something even better
Than my mother’s voice at bedtime
They were my words
They were my hopes
They were my soul
Pretty and ugly
And bare and full
They were some kind of poetry
That’s all I remember now
Rhythms and steps—that a younger me had found—
That the me of today—all grown up and proud—
Can never know, can never sing
Again aloud
Cigarettes
She smokes cigarettes and her eyes bleed red.
Sadness sits heavy on her skin like foundation
Mascara runs black down her cheeks like rain
She’s crying tears for a sadness she cannot pronounce
Hands sinking in her pockets while she contemplates madness
One inhale ignites the night
The cigarette isn’t the only thing that’s burning.
She’s burning up the world too.
Dreams go up in the smoke of that cigarette and faith falls to the floor with the ashes.
A single match to light up the world.
Just like it lit up her last cigarette.