170/365 : poetry pen pals

darling,

write me your
uncensored terror
in long cloths of
poetry

write me
into a moment
that i'll forget
with the next line

write me like a painter
use burnt siena for my
spine

i wish we used paper
so i could rip at the folds
to open you up
with different styles
depending on my mood

today, i would've used my teeth
yesterday, a knife
tomorrow, perhaps my fingers
won't feel so inadequate
the envelope, so stubborn

i like thinking of you
as something
i can put myself
inside of

although i know
there is no such thing

although i know
my knowing puts out my dreams

and so many of my dreams
have poofed true

so what if
i can fit inside the cozy hold
of someone else?

what if what he said
about building a nest
in his tree for me
stands true?

what if i don't like the nest?
what if i'm a choosy bird?
what if i'm the one
who keeps tossing myself
to the streets?
who keeps choosing
to make her own damn house
in her own damn tree?

sorry, i got sidetracked
distracted by my anger

ang her
angst her
hang ger
grrrr hang
ay ay ay ger ger ger nnn
nnnnnGUH

i love the poetry
of your fists hitting me
under a cloudy sky
i love the wild howling high
of roaring
no, more than roaring
raging
facing myself in my rage
red hot blood
unclotted

i am not sorry
i am not sorry
i am not sorry

i am just wild
i am just a child
i am just a wild child full of rage
i am just saying the sayings that need to be said
to wake the dead parts of my love
i am just love
i am angry angry love