by Marisa Siegel
Take away its power by saying it out loud. No, it’s not enough – write it down.
An original story. A story toward the bottom of the pile of stories.
You are left talking to yourself if you can’t believe in anything.
I’ve considered writing more than I’ve written. I do not have a boundary.
I have never considered it’d be better not to write at all.
There is always audience. You, he, they, her, it it it.
Take away its power by figuring out how to stop being angry. No, it’s not easy –
Take away the only comfort I knew was mine, deserved
Take away the only kind of reassurance that still mattered
You are left, a year later. You do not want to be the more loving one.
Jump with me, play the game where I hide the meaning poorly, evenly split.
Line, it’s all line again. The angry line. The defiant line. The needling line.
Percussive, scraped –
Too much too intense too line story that original binding, first edition.
Her she isn’t, and you weren’t, and they aren’t. It won’t stop.
Play a game for me, where you give the meaning, poorly.