No need to breathe.

Hold your breath

then you'll see,

Your loss of breath becomes my lung capacity.

Hold your tongue, speak through your teeth-

Your loss of words and thoughts are my reality.

Exempting Blood

Running tears crawl across
our sweating skin-
and it mixes in
all present, exempting blood.

But effort is still instilled,
in this pointless routine

And I'm caught, struggling
my skin losing color.

To let it go, slipping free
the ribbons break, and turn to thread-

And wrap around it's arms instead
to keep it's body lifted.

But threads do break, when worn with age
and turn to fibers hanging still,

And under weight of it's desperate hands,

mass becomes more dense than will.

Seasonal poem assignment.

From Winter's hands we're renewed
Born from it's frozen fingers-

The everlasting seed worn down
to it's final celebration.

These celebrated bodies
that sprout from twisting branches

This gift of winter's fingers
that dies, and turns to green.