Andi Leigh Writes

I've been preoccupied. Reserved Like acorns resting Under piles of snow. Dormant Until my time, Earned— Waiting for the earth To melt away To make room.

To be lost in airway stops— Longing for a full breath, A full exasperated reveal of The self— Some may not bat an eye While the splendor ponders On a shelf requiring new Brackets made stronger Than what came in the box. Display the truth, proud— Whatever breath may be Bottled Will not rattle when shoes Scamper by. To fill the mounted board With the exhales endured, The inhales held too long— Some may find the Truthfully raw display Breathtaking.

I am standing in the stomach of a tornado. It is dark—lifeless—confusing at times. It is loud—so loud that my ideas merge Into a whirlpool of rapid drum beats. It reverberates through my heart. There doesn't seem to be a chance Of things slowing down—unless I can Cherry pick what's important—linking Them in a chain I can use to pull Myself out of the acidic world that Seems too fast and far too loud.

When people connect through stories, Sharing waves—ups and downs— Getting to know the strangers behind The faces we see every single day— There is far more power in numbers When you dig under small talk and The generic truth-blocking formalities.

Comfort flows Between Inspired words Gliding In wind tunnels. No, There are no Nails To drop strings Down to. Do not tally This As a problem Blustering Away Any ease. We may be Tossed along A cursive line, But when seen Out of the Tunnels, There is us And rhythm.