Discarded

Everyday, I toss bits of poetry

into the ocean, bits 

I cannot read aloud,

bits that disgust me,

bits I would like to forget,

and for my shame:

Every night, I dream

of a girl with 

seaweed in her hair,

rising up 

with letters in her fist

and ink to spit in my eye.

You wish to be petals
on someone's pillow
only to find you are
a piece of lemon squeezed
to clean their fingers.

Fear

A sound by the window,
the curtain shifts,
light trips into dark,
my blood slowly gathers
as finger nails cleave
into my palms-
pale pink crescent moons.

Oh Night

I have written enough
about nights
birthing broken hearts,
splintering love into
tiny pieces where
scattered on the floor
they lie waiting
to cut into the feet
of one's tomorrows.

I have not written about
nights breathing stillness
into the air, bringing
stars to my windowsill,
the moon to my cold
hard floor where I lie
scattered- in pieces
only to cut into the feet
of your tomorrows.

I sit here with

one perfect tear
on my cheek 

poised to leap.