← all posts
poetry

A bird in hand isn't always yours

Some days I miss you too.
I remember your flight out of my open window.
You had threatened it, 
Screamed at me a bit, broken yourself in my hands, then taken off

Some days I want to carve out my jaw
Let it hang open
So you know I'm sorry, 
and unhappy
Let you know my mouth is still a home
That my chest still holds warmth
That you could always fly back through the window and into my arms.

Some days you don't matter at all.
I waste my hours in bed and drown in myself 
And weigh my heart against a growing bird, with broken wings.
I tell myself if you flew by I'd stare till you were over the horizon.