10.30.20
MIRROR
You pull your pen from your pocket and cross out madness
angry, manic lines, pushed and rushed on top the things
that scare you
I know that look; bitterness that resents the moment for showing too much
for showing anything at all
an angry foster shoving ferret thoughts back in their cage
but those words are the perfect punctuation to our chaos
the world needs your madness to exhale
even when they call their in-breath sanity
Once you called my eyes kind. That was morning.
Tonight, you call them thunder; and yeah, I might downpour on your lightning if you let me, that’s what happens when the moon is your only witness, but don’t be fooled to think sunrises will pause for our Autumn.
I can’t tell if you feel seen, or sane with me.
Both answers scare me.