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.
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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