streaming words


I look back

At all the words.


Streaming through me


A memory I’m allowed

To keep.


And that’s just it.


I could never keep those



They flew from me, both

In anguish


In ecstasy


And continued to fly.



I literally threw away


Of journals,


(all those words

framing me)



textbooks from my Master’s in…



all those words

all the framing


and what stuns me

is that I am


not allowed to keep;

hold on to;

what I write


regardless of whether

it’s been trashed

or praised.


Because the words

That I write


(that poem about the girl at the bottom of the sea?

Covering the hole?)


Frame me.

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