24 x 36

at our round, shiny kitchen table,
set beside a forgotten garden,
shadowed in the window,
I would cry.
facing an open room,
begging away,
cloudy shots of medicine.

I learned to forget,
& we never knew,
smaller breaths are bigger fears.
growing on your bones,
black lichen feeding nights alone.

starved of courage,
the worst parts of me,
shroud of panic,
electric charged anxiety.

& before I drowned,
walking through this world,
I found a place to rest.
a field of tea roses — yellow, cream and pink.
green, lime skin jungle.

bright, cool, white gusts of sea breeze.
lungs of ice,
shattered flaking cerulean sheets,
melted by internal fire,
I can breathe.

& with my breath,
I am still in a raging storm.
the clock slows,

a caged freedom,
awaits me.


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