sadness is the color of my eyes, my heart,
the same shade as distance
and some kind of Miles Davis on repeat.
it's the sound I don't want anyone to hear
creeping out of my pillows in the morning
before the coffee and cigarettes begin-
an avatar, when I'd rather just be myself.
my anxiety smells like whatever it is
that makes mean dogs bare their teeth.
it sound like trees falling, like doors slamming,
like a pin drop,
and sometimes, like my mother checking on me again.
it feels like nothing.
anger is the color I paint the town with —
blood shot, and sparkling with tiny salt crystals
louder than the sirens they play when I hit the deck,
bitter sweet and never offered cookies.
I'm just a pile of tears needing
to punch you.