I draw my tongue from its sheath like a child drawing rainbows in the dirt of a baseball diamond, drool drawing from her mouth, spelling her name onto her brand new uniform.
My metaphors are rusty
I stretch a muscle riddled with bed soars
Mismatched words matchmissed together to draw a map back to my voice
Screaming from beneath a bog of anxiety and self loathing.
Black ooze bubbles ascending as great unheard choirs
"Pre-lactoise soy milk"
Nonsense for nothingness blooming from my lips as I suffocate to the tune of pre-K
T-ball memories previously buried in a brain corner reserved for forgetting.
I can't breath but when I speak so I'm must do it loud.
I draw my tongue with great effort from the well of my imagination
That when I reach the end of my rope
I'll find that voice.
Clear as a crystal the color of sky
Not sky we see
Tearing my arms to see my throat I succeed in digging up my deep wealth
What greets me is not clean or pretty or particularly good
It is alive
That's better than most