“Oh, you’ve got a natural talent!”
“Even your drafts are works of art!”
Fuck, after twenty years?
Old habits die hard.
Honey had a rain machine
that washed away his fears.
Funny thing about fake rain
it doesn’t hide your tears.
Every raid he left for
left me wishing he’d not return
and every kiss that smoldered
couldn’t quite heal the old burn.
Now, I thank him for the pain
that helped me rearrange
how I see certain blood stains
that forced my life to change–!
I
found
my way
putting words
to
page
and wishing every night on my star!
That one day, my tears and his rain…
would happen o’er mountains, far…
Fuck… after a couple years
it still seems
old habits
die
hard.
Oh, I’ve got a little talent…
It’s like my words could be works of art.
The Bluejay Nest 