Native Tongue – New Poem

This is a new one. If I decide I don’t like it I’ll take it down, so read it quickly, ’cause I do that a LOT. And if you like it let me know – it motivates me to leave it up.

Native Tongue

The blood I can feel
each morning, slow as sap
through the skin & tissue.

Untapped. Maybe I need
medication, it’s probably hormones
someone will say.

It’s some-odd years
of the same. Not the ones
already lived, it’s what is

to come. I regret
what is left. No man ever learned

his lesson from me. My lips
were never red. My native tongue not
his first language. His blood

so blue it showed through
on his face & fingers.