My feelings woke me up and said to me:

I.

“If you’re going to break then you might as well

shatter.

Like glass, after it forms in your throat

when your tears choke you at night and you can’t breathe

or swallow

so you write.

But your sadness is not beautiful

nor will it ever be poetic.

Scratching your troubles onto paper

brings your thoughts

to life.”

II.

“You inhale black coffee that makes you bitter

and stains your teeth

as you recite those poems

so they all come out strong

but distorted.

The veins in your hands are pronounced

and begging you

to give them something that will stop their shaking.

Ice is warmer than your body

and being in a desert could not take away your chill.

For cold starts inside and finds its way

out.”

III.

“You will end up like broken pottery.

Pieces of you will create metaphors

to replace your soul.

Your metaphors will make up the world

and it will be vulnerable

just like you.

The sadness inside of you

turned your eyes from green

to blue

and you paint the ground navy

with every step

you take.”