Small

I’m changing, choking, crying, lingering, laughing

Am I the laughable laughingstock

Am I the one who has been tossed aside, ashore, away, or flat on my back like a whore

A welp, a dog, a sacrifice, a rat

I feel so small, like the tiniest bit of writing on a scratch paper

But I bellow this one thing like a whale

I take the picture of whore, welp, back

When I wrote those things

I was opening my mouth, legs and eyes

Too much, too little

You wounded my letters with furious jumps

Tattering my feet with your chains and fingers

Tasting your fingers in my dreams

That you angrily spat back at me

For tortured judgment was your way

Passive aggressive words that felt loving but were acting like a fantasy

A fantastic story that was never to be told or seen or heard

I’m smallish, happy and grateful and fearless but scared

I’m not small enough

Words can only desire, designate or even fire off like a cannon

Or cancel noises

So furiously silent

Fucking in a letter dated a year ago

Those sounds were blocked off

By a cruel wind

Traffic jam that found itself backed up in your head

I’m too fucking exhausted to find the words

To finish this small poem.