that's mrs. mediocrity to you

i am the leaves
that skitter on pavement
touching toe and ankle
bare and boot
and you don’t listen
to the crackle of my skin
or bear witness
to the whisper
of my decay

i feed you anyway

i am the crow
robbing blue eggs
black circling sound
from the ring
on the right-hand finger
of fortune
and you
cannot reach
the beak that bites you

i feed you anyway

i am the seeds
buried ripe beneath rows
cold arrows of root
reaching deep
through tall darkness
as you nibble buds
in the light drowning rain
of hypocrisy’s
overdrawn bloom

i feed you anyway

…

i’ve burned through all the memories

walked through fire
sifted ash

blackened fingers drawing hieroglyphs
to guide me through the grief that buries living

i light candles at dawn and bonfires at dusk
build a fortress of flame
and sleep on embers

i’ve been phoenix so many times
my house is strewn with feathers
(ankle-deep and sharp as quills)

i’ve put you out and opened windows
always feeding the desire to breathe
(which i think is the same as freedom)

i remember the night i woke in terror at the blanket of smoke swirling over my bed
i remember the way i laughed later, when it turned out to be a dream
i remember the way it still feels entirely exactly undeniably

real

truth always finds a way to be revealed