NAPOMO, day 4

Today's National Poetry Month prompt had to do with things unsaid. Here's what I had to say about it:

"What I Didn't Say Before I Asked You to Leave My Doorway"

I cannot breathe near your edges.

You

glass shards, crooked, sharp

You

rust and mold

You

greed and hunger

You

black hole

devil woman

death of one thousand cuts

You

need need need

You

drink wood

burn water

breathe sand

You defy

logic

God

me

You waste emptiness.

You dare me.

No. You cannot share my air.

No. Bitter does not like my tongue.

No. You do not deserve the life that this poem steals away.

I

paint sunshine

I

dance luminescent

I

glisten midnight.

You are too small to see.

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