Catch me on my gray bike
all September long,
leaving nectarines
on your stoop until
I go away to LA for a spell.
I lie in a text about liking
David Lynch films,
but tell the truth
when I tell her
goodbye.
Between NYC and SoFlo,
and now LA,
the pod, poetry, and copywriting,
I am pulled in too many directions
while spinning oh so many plates.
My confidence is inconsistent,
but I know what my gut needs,
and I trust what my heart bleeds
as it breaks everyday
over trivial things like nectarines.