NEXT TIME YOU HAVE TIME

 

 

Meet me where I am broken.

Where I am no longer smiling, growling

Or talking, not even crying or moaning.

 

Meet me where my handwriting is sloppy.

Where my sentences are

Half written, my eyes half open, and my pants half worn.

 

In my grey paint smudged over

My graphite pencil marks

And the scraping, trying to erase, only to

 

Realize

A pink joining the story.

Big gulps of pink milk I never invited.

 

Meet me where I am hungry.

For food that's slow to digest. And fix my pan if you can

So together we can eat.