Pensive|

Ex 6 The Kitchen It's that time again. My phone shouldn't swim. I leave it behind. My feet drag, the door joins in too. My face sags as always. Time pauses to tease. There's that pile again. I'm cuffed with no one to assist me. I take the glorified slime and mix it with the oils. The bubbles. I like the bubbles. But what do bubbles change? Then it strikes again. The silver chord within my heart is strummed again. Ripple from my head to my hands. Picking broken shards from the floor again. I miss the days. When she was around to mention my name. Here come my tears again. Pouring out of the cut I had. Not in my palms but in my heart to hold. I am in that place again. Floating in the fragrance of her cakes and pies. Landing in the tightness of her scolds and hugs. Rowing on the rivers of her secret prayers. It's that time again. Staring at myself in cloudy water. Seeing that left to me the storm will never be over. I like to hold on to the anger that bubbles inside. Wishing I could be a doctor before she went cold. The bubbles. I like the bubbles. But what do bubbles change? #MA#poetry#review

THE PAWPAW TREE Outside my window I see a burdened tree with fruity dreams. With a billion places to go yet rooted in one spot. Its pain, its stunted spine. Bent by the weights that alleviate another's pains. I see it's sweat, I see its tears. Sticky white snakes gliding down it's sides. I see the curse of abundance. The tears of the blessed Enveloped in the darkness of isolation. Waiting for the one in the shade to offer a trade of place. Hoping someone would understand. Hoping one would care. Outside my window, I see myself. Maybe in another world. But still, I see a burdened tree with fruity dreams. With a billion places to go yet rooted in one spot. #MA#poetry#review