So I come like a box of watercolor,
surrender to water
and Iris.
You are drowned out, on a stretcher,
a small body of
life sucked out of a vacuum.
I missed your heartbeat.
Where did it go?
I found a dumpster chomping
down on fingernails
and he waited….
on 59th and State, he sat,
watching out for backlash
but I am calm.
Blood clots are normal, even when
I am flooded. We gather sand bags to stop
feelings from flowing.
Nobody fels mine grow,
like Ivy, like heavy honeysuckle
taking over a life.
He says it is for the best,
the world is watching,
I am a fuck up,
I know.
I am hard to kill.
But I’m trying.
God am I trying!
maggiemaeijustsaythis 
That is a dark poem, but quite brilliant!!!
This broke me…and I wanna say that your “fuck-up-ness” is irrelevant in Light of Mama’s grace.
bless you, dearest one
Charissa
You are a brilliant writer. I love this and the honesty of your words.
Thank you so much. It’s so nice to hear something like this. I really do appreciate it.