i stayed up until three last night tapping out poems I found on the internet, whispering them under the covers, living each word.

and it's the sort of thing I know I shouldn't be doing.

staying up until 3am and losing myself in foreign words and foreign lives and foreign loves.

my mama never liked poetry,
she kept her words simple and sharp and poems just wouldn't have stung the way her other words did.

because poems are soft, and light and fragile. and you can break a poem in two if you try enough.

i try to speak poetry, I try to syllables like a spell and I try to live it. but I fear that I am too hard, too cold.

that I have already broken any poetry that I had to give