Weapon Of Words

Poetry writes itself, That’s a better story My heartbeat is violent For the way that I’m scared Of rejection for being, A simple curse A simple blessing; I can tell I exist, I can tell I live.

I open my doors and all flows in, I close them and the heaviness presses me Into a pre-formed image. It’s a deadly hug, The suffocation Calls for me to have a heart and let me out; It’s getting heavy down here, It’s getting weird how you tell me I’m not wrong while you hide me away.

I fall for the way I cut myself As I speak while I try to insist To look at the color of my blood Trying to tell yourself it was any different.

My memories drown me - Memories unsure How to interpret one Or another word; Memories unsure Where the line between ignorance And carelessness lies.

  To be able to give a gift on my best friend’s birthday next year…and next…and the next…– Guest Submission