To Be A Poet, Part 2

She said it in passing.
Casually.
Haphazardly.

I roll the small black screw
back and forth
between my index and thumb
and wonder,
Then I’d be worthy of what?

My world falls apart.
Day after day I tell myself
that it was said in frustration —
not at me, but at him.
Him.

She said it in passing:
“Why couldn’t you be men?”

And my heart —
my heart —
learned to love
a little less that day.

To Be A Poet, Part 1

You are my left lung
tucked neatly behind my heart

You make me cough

I can live without you

And yet
I would never again
breathe quite the same

For Cooks: After The Storm — Interlude By Mumford & Sons

And there will come a time, you’ll see
with no more tears
And love will not break your heart
but dismiss your fears
Get over your hill and see
what you find there
With grace in your heart
and flowers in your hair