Can you even really love someone if there aren’t parts of them that irk you?
clockwork heart
beating to the rhythm of
your affection,
i am everyone else’s
property but
my own by the age of
four.a mannequin child
a dress-up doll,
a dog small enough to
carry in a purse. but
i don’t bark–
i’ve been well-trained with
self hatred and
your back to my face.i bet you didn’t know
you’d shrink– disappearing;
the sun drying you
like a raisin until
you shrivel.
i no longer feel
so small. i no longer seem
so weak.
you no longer seem so right.
you are not my god anymore.
i will run barefoot
across the yard with
my hair down and shirt untucked.
i will breathe a little
too deeply and know for once
the only lungs
i can burst are my own.
where have i slipped
between these cracks
that god intended for us
to sink into?
where have i gone to?
a place between my body and the sky.
safe.
soft.i can still hear
them, though.
laughing right
outside my window.
and my stomach against
this mattress is pulling me back
before i am ready to go.i am never ready to go from here;
where poetry flows in the streams,
where a mind is at ease,
where raw hands find peace.
you won’t cry in the night anymore here,
i promise.
it is hard for me to believe
sometimes
that you were once naked
and crying, too.
you were once
twenty and counting
the ways to escape.
you were once taught truths
which later dissolved
underneath you.
you were once soft
and glowing with hope and
the certainty of tomorrow.
you once laughed
without the reek of bitterness
and stale cigarettes:
you were in love,
once.
you were once
free.
and i think
that perhaps i could have
loved you, once.
perhaps when you look at me,
you still see
yourself.
i’ve memorized the words
to every line
on your face.
i know the notes that play
in the background
of your mind.
i know by heart the rhythm
of your heartbeat.
i know every single part of the song
you’re living, and
i love it.
i can always find home
in a well-lived soul.
i want to wrap myself in a blanket
cocoon and fall asleep on
an old couch that devours me the way
your arms do.i want to curl up on
your broken-in body and
read the stories in your scars;
i want to read every damn book
on the shelf.
i want you to tell me stories about all
the different places you collected
the wisdom in your eyes.i can find home in you
like my favorite sandals: the ones with
my footprints molded in, the ones with
creases at the bends of my
feet, the ones with
creases at the corners of your
eyes when you smile.
words. sand
on an
endless
ocean shore
slip through outstretched fingers
slip through my mind
bucket by
bucket
strain out the gold and
stuff my pockets with
little puzzle pieces
a mosaic of words
i string together to
make a key
to the locks on
hearts and minds.
i’m not yours to keep
wriggling between fingers
that grip so hard.
drooping
wilting
pulled out of my vase
for too long.
why this famine?
your touch is no longer
gentle, no longer
soft.
i’ve had enough.
line the streets with
my fallen petals and
when the wind blows, watch
them spell my name.
Silenticel 