The Language I Keep
today
i turn courage into morning
and set my fear on the shelf,
quiet, so it won’t follow me
the clock ticks its own story,
but i wait louder than its seconds,
because hope
doesn’t care about grammar
i fold my mistakes into yesterday
and breathe into tomorrow,
while the present
sneaks by barefoot
she holds sadness softly
they wear bravery like a coat
we become
words the dictionary forgot
i have many nevers
stacked like letters never sent
yet each never
can still bloom into maybe
language tries to shape me
but i twist it gently
until words
finally start to hear
i do not speak perfectly
i feel deeply
and that
is how i poet myself alive
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