denouement,
build your own.
an untying of things.
the sighing feeling
and heavy
of my hair falling out of its braids-- 
the stop.
the need to work your fingers through
the knots you've made
to loosen them
to let gravity take its course.


sometimes you have to get the thing your want the learn that it isn't what you thought it was or what you wanted at all. this perfect thing, not right for you. 


no more lilly pad jumps. time to swim. no more safe things, the safe thing is going to burn your eyes. i said, disappointment is going to burn your gums and trachea on the way down, going to burn burn burn and make no apologies. you are just fine at setting fires, but bukowski missed when he said what matters is walking through them, what matters is turning around after and knowing which ones to fight, which ones to douse, which one to let burn themselves out.


ink across my eyes and let me read those lines again. this time: censored.