I have a purse full of thoughts and comments
ridiculously well-worded criticisms I clutch
tight while you walk too close to me for comfort
past me on the sidewalk side-piece cheating
on the street. I bite my tongue then swallow the meat.
I have nothing else to eat. Oftentimes I pray a little curse
to the one true God I keep, to stuff you in a sack tied tight
with all the mistakes you’ve ever given me.
Stitched on the bag: fixed.
Says it on my bag too. Full of bitten words
aimed at a taste of you. I’ve eaten a ton of tongue.
Penned a hundred letters I’ll never send
explaining the way the world works
because we don’t.