No pebbles attest my path
There is only the debris
Of capsized meteors
Cauterizing the soles
Of my wounded dreams
*
I walk on the bones
Of revolutionaries
And though my heart
Has a taste for blood
My hands remain
Modestly perched
Between my ribs
*
In the absence of aptitude
There is expenditure
I place these briny poems
Face down in rows
The pursuit of genius
Necessitates sacrifice
*
I am experiencing a lot self-doubt lately and I think that’s why I haven’t felt like writing as much