sleepy skies and morning dew
play pianissimo, slowly
crescendoing as the
sun strains
to peek through
my window.
a quarter rest– just to stretch–
and the percussion of
socks smacking
wood.
a high C,
sung softly in vibrato
to the twin toddlers
sleeping
three doors down.
xylophone keys
falling
into
the toilet bowl.
quiet, frantic
glissando down
the stairs.
the
smash of the cymbals slamming
shut.
the final note,
the delicate
click of the key.
the applause.
When she wilted on the wooden
floor and allowed herself the blows,
I couldn’t see the love
was gone, but I knew
I couldn’t save her.
When I found myself
cornered in the eyes of her
hurricanes, helpless
to the venom she spit,
I didn’t realize I needed to
save myself.
let me kiss your
black and blues.
let me run my fingers over
your scars and
read them like Braille,
so I can feel where
you’ve been
and what you carry
with you.
let me stare in awe at
the auroras of broken blood vessels
that read me stories each night.
I know the way your
cheeks bloom with roses
when I tell you they are
beautiful.
I know the way your
eyes shyly run away from
mine, but
every piece of art on
your body is a story I want to know
by heart.
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.
Why do I miss someone who doesn’t exist? Why do I miss something that wasn’t even real?
I remember the first time I saw her
drop to the floor and crack
and spill,
and I knew I had been lied to.
Sticks and stones may break my bones,
but words can also hurt me.
And when he said i’m sorry,
and like a panacea
cured the dew in her eyes, i thought
there was a way to fix the soul’s broken bones.
and so i learned to serve
everything in my life with a side of
i’m sorry.
I don’t want to… i’m sorry.
I can’t…. i’m sorry.
I don’t like that…. i’m sorry.
i’m sorry, but I disagree.
And in trying so hard
to make sure everything that left
the assembly line of my mouth
was a gentle breeze, in
wrapping people in i’m sorry’s to protect them
in case they fell, i left myself
exposed, and (i’m sorry)
covered in bruises.
When we say goodbye,
I always stop short before
I instinctively fill the space where
I love you used to be;
like someone ripped out
the last page of a book, leaving
it unfinished.
It feels so unnatural to say goodbye
like that–like standing at the edge
of a cliff.
i’m not even sure what these
three words
mean, but I know
when I look at you
there is a tsunami inside me and
the waves scream
I love you I love you I love you.
Silenticel 