Fragile

There is a fragile tone to everything I do, 

a sense of walking carefully, 

paying attention to choosing the right word, 

the right tone of voice. 

Maybe it’s because 

I’ve been so crude lately, testy. 

I don’t mean to. 

Sometimes, I can’t hold back. 

So I am being fragile, treading softly. 

a form of self-protection 

that keeps me from attaching too much

expectations of others. 

Writing is my salvation.

In the writing workshop I was careful 

not to take up too much time.

I shared two poems in twelve minutes. 

Twelve minutes goes fast. 

In the, “dear heroine,” poem

I wanted to know if dead 

was too strong of a word. 

Should I use death? 

Since dead was the last word, 

it needed to carry a heavy hit.

Everyone agreed. Dead was heavier. 

As the workshop continued,

the poem seemed intense, too dramatic. 

I had shifted since I wrote it, 

and was feeling the need to rewrite. 

This is not therapy. 

I am capturing a moment. 

I don’t need to make everything better. 

I can write a new fragile  poem.