Writing Space

Between the cracks of my life, I write
Between dishes, missing socks. Between
the sheets at night. Around family fights
Plans with friends. The hopeless ends
of broken Christmas lights

What I’ve failed to share
in words. Always there. Painting colors
hidden hues inside my mind. Failed
to give their longing to live
in the open air. To care
for rhythmic lusts like love or sex
their colors come undone. Melt
in my hand. Crooked fingers
Smoking gun

Sometimes ashamed
of these plastered cracks healed
beneath cleverest words
I’ve ever known. But never sorry
for the chasms I have fumbled
through. The breaths that I have owned