tickled

 There are not 

enough fingers or toes to 

count how much 

you tickle me

—

April PAD day 12 - counting poem 

Heart of glass

 When they tell you 

to make art of your pain

they don’t tell you

that you’re going to feel it

so deeply that it

rewrites your insides 

like doodles

on scraps of paper

that harden into glass and scrape

your insides raw red

that each of those glass shards 

are pieces of a 

shattered heart 

that you can’t quite

remember the shape of

that your fingers will bleed on 

each hard edge wiggled 

into place 

in this miserable mosaic 

that breathes with the artist’s breath 

just barely 

— 

April PAD day 8 - “they never tell you” poem