in physics class
i learned
the further you fall,
the harder the landing:
F=ma.
i fell
for you at
90 miles per hour
without a parachute.
if the force of your lips
saying you do not love me
is like a thousand hammers
pounding at my heart,
what is the mass of
the empty shell
that remains?
they dunked me underwater
long before i could swim.
i was not born
with communion wafers dissolving
on my tongue.
they took my mind and
threw a snake in it.
a slithering snake that snarls
at humanity and
what they have become.
but i will laugh and dance while
i am ripe and still have the
recourse to forget.
motion is the only guarantee:
they’ve not stamped a cross
upon me yet.
not like fists and
bruises and whiskey
on your breath. not
darkness in eyes and
screaming.
not poison apples,
but i love you’s–
i love you too much.
i love you because i cannot
love myself.
toxic everything i own
in a pile on your floor,
toxic take all that is mine.
toxic maybe we can share
the burden, too.
toxic take, take, take
all the love
i don’t know how to give
myself.
dark blue– like childhood, like
memories. like
sinking into a dream.
bite marks on the black
plastic instead of
on your lips.
covered in stickers
of where you’ve been.
your heart’s been torn
off your sleeve and
the hole it left in the fabric
keeps unraveling.
i’m feeling too much
there is an overwhelming
pressure in my head.
every day we walk on
your back.
we stick needles in
your spine and fill
your lungs with our smoke.
we look you in the eye while
we close our hands around your neck.
every day you
love us, cleaning our spills
to cradle us again.
we are fleas, but
you love us even when we bite.
you keep trying to grow.
we keep trying to
cut you down.
i don’t have the ocean
in my eyes
or fire in my hair.
i was given
her dark traits, and
though they paint my face,
my heart is safe
because you have taught me
it is not my sacrifice
to this world.
i do not need
a phenotype to know
you are a part of me.
every time i’ve hidden
my mind from the world,
you’ve reminded me
sometimes it is okay
to scream.
every time i’ve wanted to fly,
you’ve stood behind me
and watched me go–
you believed i would soar
long before i knew i had wings.
let it be evident
through all i create, that you have
watered me well.
the ebb and flow
of tides.
the sun sets
and rises.
the look of love in
your eyes.
everything changes,
everything dies.
the door’s been locked for
quite some time now.
i’ve clasped the keys between
my fingers for so long
i seem to have forgotten i had them.
it’s hard to let go
when my hand doesn’t know how
to unclench itself anymore.
it’s painful,
to let the light in.
i have not yet adjusted. i do not yet have
the nerve to
walk through the door frame,
where vague memories reside.
these days i’m mostly
nerves, mostly
apprehension.
a steady vibration, a constant
feeling of free fall
in my stomach. i want to
expose my eyes
to things beyond my wooden wall,
but what if
keeping this door open draws people
inside, and they dirty
my floors or break
my lamp or empty out
my fridge? what if
opening the door leaves me
hollow?
i’ve stopped counting:
the numbers, the macros,
and the days since we last
spoke. the months
we could have been,
the times i will miss, and
the moments
i wish i could erase you.
i’d been trying to start the car
with the house keys– hoping maybe
if i tried hard enough,
we’d still be able to run.
from Neptune i now see that
all those numbers never added up
to anything.
Silenticel 