Writing In

I'm writing in for the first time in a long time

Not writing out

Blossoming. Not bleeding.

Rooting. Not gushing.

So I'm taking the sunshine and untwisting my fingers that've been jabbed far too long and far too deep into this rose flesh

And I'm taking the rain, perhaps a little bit too much but I've been buried in too deep and the dust just clings you see

It clings and clogs and festers and grows in

So I let these words soak through

Course through my veins like

And settle in my bones like marrow

So I can grow out

In the hollow of my palms when I curl them into metal fistballs

The wind in my hair leading them up to their own little victory dance

In the 'oh' of my lips when thoughts creep up without a sound 

And eyes that blink a little more than average purely out of habit.

I'm writing in so the knots in my joints can let themselves loose and I don't know, maybe go ahead and have a cup of tea

Seep in lukewarm water as bath bombs explode in a sprawling kaleidoscope of amorphous galaxies

Not to explain and justify but to understand and accept.