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2 poems for april

april:
this is the month when hate blooms staining my gut
but it is also the month of wisteria.


april (08):

I imagine the pink and white buds
bursting out of trees this month
as the knuckles on my flailing fists.
I am furious. I bleed longer and more.
I eat red things. I eat dark black and purple things.
the teeth in my mouth sharpen around
harsh words and hot thoughts that emerge as air.
I hurt us because I hate us.
this is the month I yearn to stab
a blossoming tree into a white shirt.
this abuse doesn’t hurt me more than it hurts you.
the ovaries churn. the entrails heave.
I am a rage that will leave me exhausted
and spent, repentant,
by may.

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