Charcoal stains on my fingers,
oh how long I waited to be reunited.
How I yearned and earned and devoured
and poured and scored, moving one piece into another
and yet another and another.
How I tried furiously to squeeze so compact and tight
like it would be enough to get me there.
It crushed my lungs instead.
Who was I trying to be anyways?
That might be apart of the
wanderings and ponderings, realizing
that the surest path to clean air
is not waiting for it to come to me.
I must go, and not be afraid.
YOU ARE READING
TO FAIL SO FLAWLESSLY
PoetryEDITS IN PROGRESS: A prose-poetry chapbook exploring themes of insecurity, doubt, lost fabrics, and what it means to fail so flawlessly.
