Deah Caldwell Poetry

All the while
that you’ve been leaking,
because your valve
is in disarray,
my mouth seemingly
prefers stuttered speaking
for all the things
I want to say.
My head,
though it’s foggy and tired,
continues to wrap around
difficult truths.
So my eyes can see
what you’ve conspired,
and I can maintain
the innocence of youth.
Dear heart, even though
you’ve been a nightmare
for me to endure
these harsh off beats.
I’ll take my chance
on knives and stitches
for more favorable
front-row seats.