Crime & Punishment

Failed essays,
 each belying
 my immaturity…

What am I saying?
This is my life I lament:
 real life… lives.

Their blood stains my hands.
Why did I try to write
 with them.

I lament spilling ink,
 but the sin is simpler:
  taking people’s lids off,
  handling their bottles.

The Love

If you allowed
 you to love yourself,

the rough diamonds
 languidly studding
  all the curves
 of your underground,

you would understand
 how silly it is to wish
 you were more.
You already are so much.