Behold the dangers that fumble
from the tips of fingers,
not my fingers
my grip lingers longer,
firm and decisive
I give life to the blade,
throw it higher.
let me astonish you
with this act of courage
while others worry
not to nick their thumbs
I light torches to touch
the skies,
I only touch the handles
In one brilliant moment
of haphazard delight
I live for the danger,
the attention. I crave
daggers in front of me,
I'm in control of them.
I can make a spectacle
with house hold utensils,
I can write it as if you
were the one hefting
the weight of a weapon,
powerful enough to bring
joy and destruction.
I live for the language of it,
bleed just to practice it.
I'm not finished either
I'm eager for wounds,
cuts, burns, and ink
stained on my palm.
This is my boast,
my need for recognition,
to record it while I'm here.
YOU ARE READING
Thresheld
PoetryMy life is a series of thresholds that I overcome through poetry. Love, loss, pain, regret, humor, irony, word play, and even sarcasm are as much apart of my life as they are central to my poems here. I am Thresheld. UPDATE: It's been quite a few ye...
