is the poem engraved on your bones
inked by blood rushing
through an unsteady pulse and wounded lungs
is the sound your feet make as you jump to a new rooftop
are confessions,
where you admit that you need extra incentive to be honest
are the eraser sheddings in the book of life
is removing armor during the battle
acknowledging even though it looks strong
it’s about to rust from the blood plummeting from the sky
are fancy names for shells
are God’s typos
mispellings in the book of life
is when we notice in others the weakest part of ourselves]Modesty 
is not needing a stool on the mountain’s peak
is a custom made sweatshirt
The fancy is in the fit
is unstrummed guitar strings
the beats before the songs
is the gulp of shame you swallow so you can not just talk
but speak
is a song with no words or music

I spent all my money on papers and pens
Plucked my plumpest chickens for quills
I didn’t have dictionaries
Only life to define things for me
But you are the enigma
The misplaced definition in my book
You are
the soul I’ve been trying to decipher
the fear worth giving in to
the dead sea of emotions that will never me let drown
the promises that refuse to transform into apologies
the truth that doesn’t to be gospel or holy
I will never call you angel
because you are why it took 85 million years to make us human
the courage that annihilated my bubble
made me understand that slugs are braver than snails
the accident I could never grow to hate
the modest eight wonder
the hoodie for those rainy days when I can’t find shelter in my own skin
a home knitted with silver linings
you put the ten into tension
the backwards lover in revolution
the nest in honesty
you are more than a basket
so I will place all my eggs in you
because you won’t pick at my scabs
you will kiss them better
for you are the romance I don't need to define.


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