6.22.18

Remembering who I am is a hot-cheeked, sinking feeling.

Pins and needles, butterflies in the ventricles.

Blood flow returning to areas that had lost feeling,

that had been presumed dead.

 

Have you ever been thirsty and drank much water so fast that your stomach hurt?

Things that you need are not always comfortable.

Sometimes things that you need happen all at once.

 

Sometimes they do not feel like giddiness,

but like the dizzying disorientation of being up too high on a tall building.

I am crashing back to reality.

You revel in my fall.

Advertisements

6.21.18 (jenga and the price of infidelity)

My first move was jimmying a piece from the bottom. It was all about strategy. You destabilize the foundation first, and every move after is a risky one.

From that point on, both of us wince and grimace at the difficulty of removing more blocks from the precarious structure. Like it’s a game we’re playing as equals — just trying to keep the whole thing from toppling over.

But my first move was determinate. We were working in the landscape I created.

And from that first move, there was no going back.

6.9.18

There’s something about the way water swishes around in the muddied glass

Centrifugal force

Never cleaning the perimeter

No friction

Only circular motion

Around and around

 

In the aisle, I looked up the color for apologies; for resignation

I cut the stems in the kitchen, picking pieces off our floor before you saw them land

I had always been so good at that

I wonder where my talent for neutrality is hiding

 

I have not seen her lately

I’ve only noticed the aging face of someone immersed in shattered pretense

Scarred by broken glass

Water cannot swirl if soapy fingertips drop the vase

And you caught me red handed

6.8.18

The rings feel so hollow

Just like forever seems hollow

As if the cost of my inner thighs is beer

And mixed drinks after, to make the night go wrong

I do not feel traces of him on my body

Seedlings in the spring air cling to me more then he ever will

And you are my whole self

You are embedded in every follicle

You are the precipitate of heart beat

I feel you in my breath

You are my forever

The forever that I pray outweighs my tomorrow

I will keep waiting for you

At the back door

At the front door

At the landing of the stairs

4.12.18

If you take in a full enough mouth of smoke, you may convince yourself it’s something worth swallowing.

That singed tongue and throat are life-sustaining.

 

Is that not what he told you?

When he blew it into your mouth?

 

You said you weren’t hungry anymore.

You said you were content to die wearing only his perceptions of you, fitted to your cold body like a corset.

(Cinched & pulled)

You said of all of the ways to commit suicide, this was by far the prettiest.

(describe a first)

The air was hollow and carried the light scent of disinfectant. There was no clock to watch – they never put clocks in waiting rooms. So I alternated between starting at the tile floor and the bag you had left next to me. You didn’t even take your wallet with you when they called your name. But I sat in reception, thighs sticking to the merciless plastic as my heart bobbed in my chest. Intermittent palpitations reminded me why we were there.

I just kept thinking of your voice and the softness of your skin and how you’d left me there, entrusting me with all of your worldly belongings and the memories of who you were before today. Despite you not even putting me down as an emergency contact.

I was not bitter, I was afraid. When I followed you down the hallway on our way out, I was afraid. I am still trying to differentiate femininity from the female and I’m not sure which quality of your’s I’m mourning.

In the morning, I looked at you, and everything was the same. This morning, I looked at you, and everything was the same.

But I still brace myself, anticipating your disappearance.

2.14.18

I found myself in a basement

In her arms or lap or eyes

Because the others dared me to, or I dared myself to

 

Then her lips were on mine and my heart was all the way up here

Threatening to give me away, to burst from my 12 year old body

 

I’ve heard of many first kisses as memorable and meaningful as rubbing shoulders with a stranger on the train

Mine was more like kicking up from the curb and peddling a bike for the first time without training wheels

 

Never wanting to go back

Only going back when it seemed easier to walk than explain to others how it felt to fly

I am not afraid of love but I find myself afraid of what my love means to others

 

After all of this time