A Birthday Poem

Today

I do not want to create

I do not crave ink on my fingertips

Or clay beneath my palms

I crave

The pain of squeezing broken glass

Shards that splinter on the floor

That shine a ruby red

I want

Knuckles split and clenched

Teeth bared and sharp

A scream beneath my ribs

I need

To rend the world apart at the seams

To feel my muscles ache

As coarse fabric gives way beneath my fury

But

I know my rage abates

Dies like a glass knife

Dropped and never caught

So

I’ll make it a slave while it lives

Put it to paper

And demand it makes something of

Worth