Life is in the telling

The stories have to come out
Otherwise they fill me up until I stink
With the rottenness of bad memories
I cook over and over like leftover rice

I tell my stories to save my life
Until my telling scrapes the metal of my gut
I keep telling

In secret journals and blocked and published blogs
In poems and stories
Tell my stories with paint and photography

Tell my stories with my tongue
With my pussy with ashy knuckles and dirty knees
In the shower and on stages

I keep talking myself out of some stories
Telling myself that too much time has gone by
To be important
But stories are not avocados
They do not get stale and disolve
They live and grow

And when they have outlived there purpose
They must be buried properly
And walked away from
The stories will not be ignored

I must tell cursed and hallelujah stories
To save my life
Maybe my stories will save your life too
And then you will tell yours
And save a life too