I dare to be vulnerable when no cape is on my back and all spit is hitting me in the wind, licking away the salt with a self depreciation grape.

same weak pause with a formidable pulse counting laps on my wrist tap. Taking a break just long enough to trip over my laces just a little bit this time.

finish line is in site unless i give up at the 5th gate to soak my feet in the warm springs and cedar bark splinters.

worth my love i am

to the knomes under the red topped poka dot white mushroom listening to my cries and desperate to hear more.

picking up the sand and throwing it past the goalie to steal third base and pray my knees don’t get scraped and dirty before I sink my saliva into the oranges.