Poems from Maggie Cantara
Something deep in my stomach wants to throw up raw blades but my thighs are already covered in blood.
So people can see I’m alive, I plant...
You tell me holding hands isn't your thing.
My stomach starts to rise through my arteries up my lungs until our hands drop.
There's too...
There's something about her taking the air out of my lungs.
It's another when I want to tell her not to take all of me.
I'll need some of...
What is Sober?
Sober like fresh oxygen; like recognizing the earth as it rotates?
I'm not sure. Sober like feeling a horses spine...