A Writer's Confession

Songs are like birds in my chest

Unlocked by warmth and laughter,

Bursting free in a fast beat,

Alone and free in the empty sky,

Suddenly I’m breathing.

Poems are like dark molasses

Sickly sweet slowly oozing over my tongue,

Thick in my nostrils, I choke,

Until the words stand on pages,

My mouth tastes like grieving.

Stories are like the spot behind my knees

Where helium gathers,

Makes me run and dance,

Like I have somewhere to run to,

To know where my real home is.