the thing about making the moment more bearable
is that it hurts more
at first, before you melt into
feeling okay for a moment.
the poets drink to
find their art sometimes, and it’s not the worst way to
fall into healing. there needs to be a bridge,
something shaky to get them to the edge - the place
where danger is dull, and the moment is so lost that
it’s only a distraction, and that is for the best.
i want to promise myself that i cannot be taken
more into disillusion. that there are places and people
to plant roots in. that i can survive the present
without forfeiting my future.
the prayer in the bottle, the pleading in the puff.
i am blessed, but not enough.