hot mango
Did I catch the wrong sort of love bug?
The one that sinks teeth into me
The one that clings so helplessly
As I try to flick it off my skin?
Yet when it's ridden, it lingers
In the air, everywhere, like scissors
Once cut into the paper it can't be made
New again. Even with glue, tape, and pen.
Collages illuminate the atmosphere
Of my empty studio apartment
The praying mantis I jarred in a Mason
Critters to me with stars in his eyes.
He thinks I'm mean because I like him
Because that's just what he's told.
All the women seek to farm him
Of his spirit and his form.
What would have happened if I said yes?
Confessed that I'd been excited to messages
And now it's silent in my studio apartment.
He doesn't know if I'm alive or I'm dead.
We've never been closer geographically.
Yet it seem he's worlds ahead.
Did I catch the wrong sort of love bug?
A haunting memory told by the docks?
Where the river bugs swim hungrily
To the surface of the water where I drown
Yet when the lungs fill with sorrow
I always float back up.
I think this coping of writing poetry
Has helped me quite a lot.
It's been a year and I forgot
The rush I felt when talking about
How good you were and all your worth
Growth is not a whisper, but a joyous shout.
Is this a story of life's lightning love-struck?
One where I tell our story with battered lungs?
Running from the truth, yet circling back to you.
It's paradoxical, my love is false yet true.
Would I go back to what destroyed me?
I wouldn't know unless I really do.
sharp isle