Once in a while you get
wounded,
punched,
right in the mouth,
your cheek torn
ragged on your teeth.
But you don’t spit
all the blood out.
You swallow a bit,
not because you think
you get it back,
but because once in a while
you need to get
a taste of yourself,
and there you are,
already open
and running
like a fountain of youth.
Listen to this Poem
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2 comments:
I'll have to come back when I have more time but I wanted to tell you loved your comments on indexed's blog.
I'll come back to read your poetry.
Good image, homeslice.
Hey, whatever happened with that zine you were going to start??
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