sometimes my words
lodge just south of my
sternum in a circling
churn trying
trying
trying
to break
free of my belly

an indigestion
of language

a great tumble and flail
of thoughts too long held
in velvet womb safety

a pushing straining
cluster of brave swinging
syllable sabers, lobbing
consonants and vowels
over fear-built walls of
disbelief and self-doubt

landing on the other side
pausing just long enough
.
.
.
to gather
to rise
to write themselves
on the face
of the world