Your Balls

It has been raining irreverently for 36 hours and it has no plans to end soon

It’ll be morning again before it thinks to knock it off but at least during this time realization poured too from the sky unto me long enough to stop or at least slow down my use of expletives

For how long we’ll see

I stand drenched in the new-found understanding that you never had the balls to tell me that I didn’t understand you yet you could tell me that she understands you and this confuses me

Let’s not talk about that I haven’t been able to breathe since August and I have fallen in love with the thought of bridges with knives with scrubbing my kitchen floor using my tears with metaphors to protect me and others from the truth that I don’t see the fucking point anymore

Whoops

Changing the subject clearly she’s empowered you

A thought that makes me happy for you

And for your new-found balls

Of Your Time

Which is better of a tree? Which is better use of me?

To speak of its presence? Saying, “How strong its solemness, standing tall, withstanding all?” Asking you to close your eyes and opine on how it could be that such a tree only sometimes sways and creaks, whilst all creatures around it move about, busily in elsewhere mode?

Or shall I show this photograph…evidencing all my skill? See here my theft of light, my manipulation of mirrors? All the while holding my breath, knowing all I’d offer you was a lie to your eye, an insult to its blessed, innate sense of depth, of dimension?

Walk we instead, up to this friend and touch, even taste its barked bend? It won’t mind! Trace your finger to its roots-there’s solemnity! Follow, follow upward eyes, leaves dancing in the wind. Shading, singing as a friend?