Reid@YWP

I want to write,

To let my words pour from my fingertips,

To allow my imagination to run free,

To gift my ideas to others,

To simply put pen to paper.

You squish,

You squiggle.

What a fine dish,

The way you wriggle.

Your flavor

Your sweetness,

Should be savored.

     Sarah made grunting noises as we passed the deli, I asked her why, yet she didn't answer me. It’s almost as if we’re tense every time we walk downtown. 

Looming over your shoulders

Each stack higher than its former

Every thought and every scrap

Of an idea too scared to ponder

Every moment that hurt

Each minute that lingered longer

“Men are dogs,” I say to my friend as she kneels at the foot of her bed, like a child waiting for her mother’s strong arms. Yet, I am her friend tonight, so my scrawny arms make a cheap cradle.