A. J. Huffman

 
Playing Blind

You feel the skin in my neck.
My wrists.
You understand the knots.
You made them.
Built them like chairs.
And you filled them
with names and chains.
But only at night do you play them.
Roll them in your fist
like cards.
I can see their shape,
their darkness.
Spades, of course,
not hearts.
A losers hand.
Too sharp.
You know they need to be cut.





Neon Over Nothing

Follow the cracks.
In my words.
In my skin.
They are the same.
Wrinkles
in time.
My space
is not my own.
I am here
to bend for others
who bend for fun.
But for you,
I would like to break.
Open.
And burning.
Like the sun.




Too Hot To Handle. Too Smart To Let Go.

I patch my jeans with fire.
The only thing
that will hide the scars
on my knees.
Not from you,
I know you donít care.
But from me.
I donít dare
look at them.
They make me sneeze.
Another allergy I donít need.
My heart is just too weak.
And this carpet
is my only comfort.
Thatís why I turn it around.
To face the wall.
Not the bed.
Never there.
That smoke is just too thick
to breathe.



Copyright © 2010 A. J. Huffman
 
A.J. Huffman is a poet and freelance writer in Daytona Beach, Florida.  She has previously published her work in literary journals, in the U.K. as well as America, such as Avon Literary Intelligencer, Eastern Rainbow, Medicinal Purposes Literary Review, The Intercultural Writer's Review, Icon, Writer's Gazette, and The Penwood Review.