Newspaper Boats

And we’re sinking now,
Like newspaper boats in porcelain bathtubs,
Wrapped tight in rubber bands.

Still, all these tiny, perfect, typefaced font words come floating to the top.

They’re the leftovers, really.
All the things we could’ve asked or said, that we swallowed down.

It felt like swallowing oatmeal.
Lumped and cold with the sugar not mixed in right.
So, you never knew what you were going to get with each bite.
Next thing you know, the bowls empty.

We’re holding our breath,
Staring up at the water.
My hair softly spiraling around me,
I can feel the wrinkles set in my fingertips.
This water kissing beneath my knees.
Drifting.

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Between Two Parts

This is where life begins,
Like the cuticle on a nail.
Soft, pliable.
We become torn between two parts.

Fashioned together
As if we are buttons on a collar.
Rooted in parts of one another,
Only we can see.

Yet, buttons on a collar
don’t make sense. Like us,
They’re just here, the same way each time.

Holding down eachother,
Uncertain of this breath between us,
This space we cover up under each nite.

We cannot see it, or feel it anymore.
And we can’t let it go for the better.
We’re just here,
Where life begins.
Between the best parts of us.

Corner

We never fell nor slid,
As if we were wet pasta on a plate.
Instead, we held on to eachother
Like cobwebs in a corner.

I wonder if I too, am just filling up a space, like that gray fuzz growing.
We don’t notice it, we don’t see it until it’s becomes too big to belong.

It’s here that we feel it, as if
We’re a splinter of wood growing in the prints of your heel.
The smallest bit creating the sharpest lines.

Even the blood doesn’t let, because the heat isn’t enough to leave him boiling. It only leaves you cold.
Cold like the splinter that doesn’t belong inside you.
And stuck, like the cobweb in the corner.