we're all so incredibly close to the ground.
I am an alcatraz ghost.
I've done some bad things and I'm not sure
if I deserve another birthday.
chains in wrinkles, I can see your knees
growing flowers in the winter.
the red on your kneecaps, like lipstick
poems that hate what they pretend to love.
I'm not sure if my voice box has a lock.
is there a place where my hands don't shake?
or somewhere that I don't have to be embarrassed?