Poetry Website

the way she says
room
makes me think rum

I’m sure she means
to be proper
but she’s just biting
at my alcoholic
stomach

You could say I’m the pawn
of my own sick game,
but I wrote the rules. I
know where the book is, I
move the game piece, I
know what the end of the
board looks like.

what are parents thinking
these days?
a baby named raspberry
should be small, round,
and purple,
squeezable, and growing
on a thorn-sharp vine.

I explore myself and my limits
and come to the screaming end
unsure of what it is I have found.