Sometimes I just hate poetry.
“The world breaks everyone, and afterward, some are strong at the broken places.” Hemingway
Perhaps they forgot I am just an empty shell. Better yet, maybe they don’t know.
Madbird by Rachel Dragos
Today, his judgment is arrows pegged with apples like a shish kabob. And today, my passion is a nude ballet.
If silence is a lightbulb, I am an unlit lightbulb.
I watch him sleep. He sleeps like a child.
My desire is as crunchy as ice. My quietness, he says, is like a spine and he can see the bumps.
In the night, we are doing fine. He says I dance like a madbird.
Courage is keeping my eyes open. The window opens, but doesn’t shut anymore.
I think my mind works like tree roots.
The black birds in the gray sky remind me of bullets.
In reality, everything is louder.
I squint my eyes in the dark and the flashing alarm is the only thing that guides me home.
