Beast of Burden

Most nights the need in me grows sharp 
with fiercely wanting claws. 

I sip my tea in hopes I can still the nerves
which quake within me. 

You see, my siren nestles in a cage 
composed of flimsy plywood. 

I guess upkeep on a proper cell is difficult
when the heart is cracked?

(Fort Knox my central chamber ain’t.) 

Shivering and shaking like some addict
lacking their fix, I write. 

Black pools stain the intersecting highways
of my fingerprints as thoughts bubble over. 

Have to soothe the savage singing of
desire as it bates my loneliness. 

Indeed, I am an inkwell full of longing and 
tattered valentines. 

I am the face of the passed over,
homely fickle set. 

I am your pauper in faded jeans
and a fitted blouse, malnourished. 

I am the woman that craves and craves 
and craves what society cannot give—-

Love don’t come cheaply and I can
never seem to afford it. 

Instead I compose sentences like 
bandages around the fissures of my soul. 

I give you poetry because poetry is all
that I can offer during twilight hours. 

I gift you pieces of myself in verse
because verse carries my weight with ease.

I grow you stories because stories capture
the nature of imagination so well. 

Most nights the need in me whispers 
your name in pathetic gurgles. 

Crafting rhyme schemes as I do is 
my way to silence the monster in me——

It is how I learn to cope with the ghost
and chilling absence of you. 

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