Little leaves dotting fringed ends
With tossed change
And a wallet without a name
Half the time I don’t know what I’m saying
But I proofread like I care
With two fans at my window
Italy breathes fire down my throat
Rain pours in buckets
And you could fill up a whole pail
I could publish a poem if I wanted too
To earn some extra cash
I’m afraid of what you see
If I’m too unstable to work
then writing is the key
You take the children away from me
and rip out my child’s heart
My ballet slippers slipped in a bag
The lines I stopped memorizing
I can’t play the bass but I have a bass guitar
It’s what I wanted at the time
I was thirteen
I couldn’t recognize a phase
Now it just comes back to haunt me
With her legs stretched out across the floor
My toes lift and lift to reach higher and higher
But they say the shoes don’t fit anymore
Even though my feet still squeeze in
Even my body wants to go back
But the logical parts say “too late”
And the heart sighs with regret
A spirit reject
It’s like love in a special way
Giving up
because you know you can’t win
Every part of you still in desire
But why bother
You won’t ever go back
Because you already know the answer is “too late”

So, I return to my center, to my core
To release the itching tension
crawling inside
I don’t need applications
I don’t have to show you my face
It doesn’t matter how many rings are on my fingers
Or even what I’ve done or haven’t done
Just yet, not yet
Writing can still make me feel worthless
When in comparison
But at least I have this
To know now, To not turn away
ever again
I still remain the same