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What I’m trying to say is<br />
I want you to let me bleed out blue<br />
I want to feel countryside stars on<br />
My skin<br />
Lights so bright they burn and scab<br />
And weeks later in the mirror I can<br />
Stand to stare at little skin ripples<br />
Dancing and moving<br />
Inviting me to join them<br />
What I’m trying to say is<br />
I only like my words when I read<br />
Them aloud<br />
But I hate the way<br />
My vocal chords resonate<br />
I wish I could tune them into<br />
Something more sweet<br />
HAYWIRE Issue <strong>11</strong> <strong>Spring</strong> <strong>2018</strong><br />
What I’m trying to say is<br />
Milk and bones have no correlation<br />
Bones are sour and never flow the<br />
Way I want them to<br />
Milk flows from<br />
Constellations of mothers<br />
Bones are birthed by just one<br />
What I’m trying to say is<br />
I never meant to use that rope.<br />
I always leave my words hanging-<br />
Photo by Riva<br />
Greinke, <strong>11</strong>a<br />
Photo by Ailie<br />
Gieseler, <strong>11</strong>a<br />
What I’m trying to say is<br />
That his voice is like falling<br />
pearls<br />
From the heavens they trickle<br />
down<br />
And clatter to the floor<br />
Grasping the floor tighter<br />
With every bouncing spasm<br />
Until they roll on<br />
The floor like eyes,<br />
Blinding mine<br />
Because what I’m really saying is<br />
I’m combining words without meaning<br />
Wishing you would find beauty.<br />
And as the stars begin to<br />
Pull the boat up to<br />
The heavens<br />
I hope to return with it.<br />
<strong>11</strong>
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