Pull me
into your tides.
I want to
get lost
in your water,
fight for
my breath,  
and wash up
somewhere
far from
where I
was before.

The real spine of this country
exists between the lines
where
battered backs
carry
the words of few men.
The weight on their bodies
keeps the truth
from falling off the page.

She has
forest eyes
that you’ll
get lost
and
found in.

Somewhere inside,
a little girl
has been writing
this entire time.
She is running out of space,
but is too afraid to leave.
I opened my notebook to save her.
I can see her now.
Suffocating
between the lines
my pen is trying
pulling apart.

We are all born soft.
Floating into the hands of others.
Some don’t know how to hold on,
brush our hair back,
make a point to smile,
protect our tears in their palm.  
Instead,
they poke at us.
Say no
and go
with a firm fist.
Their claws try to embrace us,
but they only scratch the surface.
With so many punctures,
our insides drain.
Sinking,
we become skin and bones,
too hard to reach.