i seek intimacy through frowned eyebrows
i decipher poems through this silence-
tying strings to people,
in case they forget their way back to me
i trace my name into their skin
as they turn their backs;
i get hopeful-
cryptic, almost, analyzing when they’ll be back-
people tend to seek easy things.
i complexify my words,
salted with venom
the truth is bitter- but
so is the silence, no?
the string pulls aggressively, but
it does not work vice versa
this one sided string is starting to tug away-
my peace, my every last of being
segregated to strings- connected to people,
i say it like it’s a bad thing-
the loud voices vibrate the strings
as i walk through the veins of the hands
it reminds me i’m alive,
the string has reached its elasticity- – – –
it begs to be freed
of this intimacy
of the veins, the voices and wants to
curl into a ball instead
clumped into a space, i’d rather untie all these knots
keep them to myself-
unraised eyebrows and unheard words are not complex.
the venom is not bitter anymore.
it tastes sweet almost, the taste of victory.