Wanted to tell him so badly

But the words were stuck

Like toffee in teeth

She could feel them festering

Peeling enamel

Yet she couldn't admit

Couldn't spit them out

Because the words were worse

And a rotting tooth

Is better than a rotting heart

how do you practice an art that

feeds on

the blood from broken capillaries?

it hurts too much

to break open

the dusty dim-lit rooms

where lives the unspeakable.

i can sleep

i just choose not to,

for i have fallen in love with the way my mind

plays in the dark night with thoughts of

you.

I tried making a poem

with internal rhyme and

ended up with a masterpiece

of spacebars and enter keys

I'm done forcing poems out of me

strings of words tied in bows don't

flow, if I must bleed words, self-inflict

a few choice cuts that will change things

contained in the walls of a room called mediocrity

I will wallpaper them with truth and

learn inspiration, like

a second language

or the better half of me

a wall is a solid and sounds are vibrations

and my heart beats strong enough to shake foundations

neurons pass messages around in my head

it says: in second grade

we learned sound travels fastest

in solids and

I know I will be heard