miasma (poem #15)

I never knew how to breathe before you.

I only knew how to inhale 

and exhale without purpose, without thought.

I always spoke as an assault.

I have swayed when my heart worried,

came right back to the tide, and the breeze—

I am not a romantic, 

I am a brute, 

quarantined.

I have never loved correctly. 

I have done what most cowards do, 

become a mute. 

In my breath now,

I catch purpose, 

I leap in sorrow 

and the universe

soughs in approval.  

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