Tipping Point Poem by Maya Hanson

I have stayed up all night a painter
for the sake of covering these walls
with smoother shapes than my flight risk fear,
with things I will probably regret.

I've got questions I shouldn't ask,
colors I shouldn't spill
but when you are around you cut the legs off all my chairs
and the turquoise is dangerously close to tipping.

I've got questions I shouldn't ask,
I will turn them into answers when I lie next to you,
I will leave the lavender in every corner
so you know I'm okay.

I've got questions I shouldn't ask
so I bite them down minute by minute
and splash a bit of royal blue on your doorstep,
hope you find it meaning more than an accident.

It's overdue,
mixing the fire with the ice,
we can make sure there are too many colors on this floor to count
We both get home with tangled hearts and splatters on our shoulders,
covered like we don't mean to cry.

I've got sentences I shouldn't mean,
I brush silver on the windowsill,
I sit high and pretty and sunk and flawed.

I've got sentences I shouldn't mean
but I would rather mean too much than nothing,
sitting here on edge
with the sunset orange three quarters full and
threatening to overflow onto your lips.

I've got questions I shouldn't ask,
colors I shouldn't spill
but here with you I am climbing to the tipping point.