Catching the wind
through my fingertips
trying to snag a taste
of open aired freedom
since it rings and rings
passing through my ears
like a singing bliss.

I woke up drunk into the afternoon, heard the earths heart beat, listened to it swoon. Thought it a fool, for falling for the moon. But here I am, loving you.

I reverted back to self doubt, to a couple steps before the starting line. The jammed coffee maker a synonym for my suicide. The the open face rejection of a boy telling you, "you're not good enough" . Like a drink without a holder, I am prone to spilling over. And here I am, mopping up my insides.