Ounce

Five fingers corseted

Around a heart that furrows

With transparent agitations

Like a water mark

But art as love cannot be

Withheld it must be shared

In order to flourish.

Sometimes the pain blankets

My attempts at being human.

Sometimes I am no one

But it is everyone else I fear.

Whatever else I might be

Yours is not the face

I was designed to wear.

Is it wrong to crave isolation?

To prefer the conversations

That happen first within

And then beneath the pressure

Of still shaking hands?

Some poems cannot

Be spoken out loud,

They are carried

In the junctures and edges

Of souls inverted and collapsed.

Vulnerability is the only

Strength imposed,

We’ve got to feel the ground

With our whole body

Before we can forge roots

And forget about the stars

If you don’t love with every ounce.

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