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open mouthed astonishment

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it used to hurt to open my soul and tip the contents onto paper. this piece describes those feelings, and ends with a change into not being as defensive with criticism.


I have a leaky mind:

thoughts dribble away

through holes in sanity.


Public knowledge

was mine alone:

my brain is open-sandwiched,

and I have no strength -

or the mind -

to re-close all those membranes.


If I spill these words,

and scratch this pen

across the mind inside,

and feel the floor go limp

beneath my feet as it bows towards me,

the world might see inside this porcelain head.


Point at these letters

spilling from my ears and mouth,

I don't much care any more.

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