cough up the map.
let it spatter to the floor, wet and wrinkled, wrenched free
of all the secrets you swallowed with it.
laugh hoarse and bitter at the lines you drew
before you knew what you know now, before
your dreams rattled you awake every night,
when you thought relief
meant something other than an unchoked breath,
when relief meant comfort,
and not the gasp between
what just hit and what's on the horizon.
it's still there, though.
the lines you drew
with as steady a hand as you could
still lead to that gentle air,
the stuff that lives between your face
and the shoulder
of someone
who cares.
About the Creator
Dane BH
By day, I'm a cog in the nonprofit machine, and poet. By night, I'm a creature of the internet. My soul is a grumpy cat who'd rather be sleeping.
Top Story count: 22
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Blessed 33
So I woke up on the morning of February 5, 2026 and guess what and you know what I realized? It’s my 33rd birthday. Do you know what that means? Yes, technically I’m getting old, but what I couldn’t have guessed was this would be one of the best days of my life.
By Joe Patterson3 days ago in Confessions
Comments (2)
I like the focus on the space between ones head and the shoulder to cry on. It intensifies the atmosphere you create here
I love that opening imagery and how you carry it through the poem.