there's a place at the bottom
of my swimming pool,
at the edge of my bed,
in the backseat of my car
& in the old church parking lot
that hold all my darkness
but they're just places
and when i leave them,
they don't follow me

i've realized that i don't
have to live inside of them
anymore

there is chlorine
that doesn't smell
like the summer we spent
wasted on tile floors
all over portland

there are sheets
that don't feel like
the rough skin on the back
of your hand

there are cars
with leather seats
that i don't feel nauseous
peeling my thighs off of

there are parking lots
that aren't vacant
monday-friday...
parking lots lit
by street lamps
where no one can hurt me

there's a universe outside
the pain
where boys
with green eyes
are gentle

a universe
where he touches my
shoulder & i don't flinch,
where he whispers
"i like you"
into the still
scranton air
& i believe it

i lived
with my limbs
all tangled up in your hate
for so many years
but i'd cut off
every last one
before i'd wrap
them around you again