Confident in my Disclosure

Confident in my Disclosure


I'm trying to
re-place myself.

This one part of me
just knows
that a change in scenery
will prove beneficial.


I'm wanting to see it.

You.
There.
With me close behind.

I'd do my best
to hear your whispered conversation...
and fight my mind
from wandering
back to conversations
regarding obvious responsibility
with my father.

So much of our word barter
derived its quality from
how my nervous ears
interpreted
(so do aesthetics come into play now?)
his tone.

That can't be what this is like.
(I won't let it.)

Covering myself with branches,
(I don't want you to know I'm watching.)
that impulsive side
tickles my ear canals
with the "guarantee"
of positive results--
full of themselves
and thoughts
of futhering me in this
struggle.

Confident in my disclosure,
I decide for a better view.

I can feel your tension.
(all the way from here)

If you would allow it...
I would rush from my entrenchment
and gather those
crimson sprinters
(following the gun-shot protocol)
escaping from your pores
into these tiny
cotton balls I found
and
squeeze

them into this

broken baby

bottle.


And that's when the party will start.

(I hope to God that's lipstick on your cheek.)




Good Providence