I’m Not Angry.  I’m Just Tired.

by Amanda Hawk


I am ready to be gentle.
To soothe my swollen vocabulary
as I pull black-eyed sonnets from my papercut tongue.
I want to be more than an offering plate of palms

holding the alphabet and my mother’s teeth.
I need to learn to read beautiful in the grime under my nails
and spell dangerous with each jerk of my hips.
Introduce my skeleton to a dance floor dialogue

where my body learns to sway
through matchstick rooms with a gasoline smile,
clicking my tongue to the rhythm,
and swallowing down strobe lights.

To have my feet dance over sidewalk cracks
and dig my fingers into midnight.
For my body to create a survival guide of how to remain alive
with a dry throat and emotions spilled on the floor.

I want to breathe. 
To feel my vertebrae unhinge,
and to fall away
with each exhale.

* * * * *

Amanda Hawk is Best of the Net-nominated and Pushcart Prize-nominated Poet.  She lives in Seattle between the roaring planes and the city’s neon lights.  Amanda has been featured in multiple journals including Volney Road Review, Rogue Agent and the winnow magazine.  She released her first chapbook in 2023 called Rain Stained City.  Recently, she placed second in the Seattle Crypticon Horror Short Story contest.