from 12/11/2020
poems that do not wait are sometimes the same ones that do not come out,
ever so refusing to turn into words,
the same ones that are tangled with hate yet look like love
yet sometimes they are tangled with love yet look like hate
these are the poems that explode and implode simultaneously
every cell within your body fights that force tears you apart while holding you together,
that force that causes whales to exist, the same force that makes them explode,
as i sit here,
and as my anise tea gets colder,
and my mother sleeps in her warm bed,
i search for the words that are buried so deep within,
i admit i know nothing about poetry,
but that the music in my ears says otherwise,
and the emotional soup that is constantly stirring inside me
finally starts to boil and soon will spill all over the kitchen floor
still, i know that my words are rather pointless
a water drop on a rock
waiting there
for the sunrise
