i have never known how to love halfway
split between the extremities of
gut-wrenching, soul-consuming, burn-the-world-down passion
and tired apathy
and i would either walk to the ends of the world for you
or not even to the end of the street

maybe that's why i hated goldilocks
for continually reminding me that i've never been 'just right' for anybody
a bowl of cold porridge, a chair three sizes too big
someone you settle for but never really want

maybe, you argue, i should learn to stretch myself more evenly
but i seem to have a problem of only seeing things in black and white
(more often than not, i land on black)

the problem is, i spend most of life in retreat
face hidden behind hair, hands pulled under sleeves, soundproof headphones
shuffling down sidewalks to a soundtrack of alternative music on full blast

but when i give my heart away,
it is not release
like gently unlocking a tabernacle to let the blood breathe
it is artpoetrywar
ribcage torn open, red hands, stains on the bathroom floor
clawing out the fire in my chest
just to hand them the universe on a burnt-out matchstick

i can count on one hand the people i love beyond a doubt
and it takes the same fingers to count how many of them deserve more than my ashy soul
still, my body aches for the other ghosts in my life i want to care more about
so i guess i'm finally learning what my math teacher meant when she said two halves make a hole