I’m not soft clay from the riverbed; I don’t love between warm hands
I’m foraged and cut and my love takes work
And you’ll speak to others and they’ll say look at this man, he loves easily. We should all love like him
But they’re forgetting it isn’t a choice of mine, that I need love to be whittled
I love like a feral cat: claws first and I’ll run once I’m fed
To the dirt where I’ll lay in the sticks and mud alone, alone
maybe I’ll come back when I’m hungry again
Mar 24, 2022
Mar 24, 2022 at 3:08 AM UTC
I can’t disguise my fear as something softer.
It’s not about my teeth and it was never about your throat. it was about the uncontrollable shake masquerading as anger
And wouldn’t that be nice? If I was angry at least I wasn’t weak. If someone gets hurt,
it was bound to happen, a fate of a ****** messy end.
the flood rinsed me out,
Inescapable fear, i saw its eyes in that wave
Now I’m making a mud house in its wake, building it up little by little.
It isn’t about my nails, clay stuck beneath them (I can no longer tear) but my hands.
Pulling chunks of earth to build up my walls, weaker than before—
It’s gentler than I remember. And it’s warm. It’s the steady knowledge of you
The sound of footsteps or a spin or the smile in your eyes.
This is where I quit. White flag raised, walls short enough I can throw my leg over and hop down the other side.
Acceptance.
Hold me, please. It doesn’t seem like a lot but it’s my
walking pneumonia finally clearing.
Mar 24, 2022
Mar 24, 2022 at 3:08 AM UTC
because every time I try to put words to it, they slip through my fingers
see me and know
a flood is drawing nearer (hear the rushing water?)
please stay and let it
wash over you
i can’t promise it’ll be clear, but it will be
deep enough to swim in
Mar 24, 2022
Mar 24, 2022 at 3:07 AM UTC
I’ll store my love above my hip bone
So I can feel it when I reach for my keys
And you won’t have to know what I’m feeling for
I’ll store my yearning on my hard drive
But I told everyone the password weeks ago
And I’ll keep my affection in a letter, addressed to you, on my desk
And I’ll hope you find it by accident
But I won’t let you into my dorm
Mar 24, 2022
Mar 24, 2022 at 3:07 AM UTC
There are birthdays of people I no longer talk to and birthdays of people is see every day and birthdays of people I miss
At least once, for each of them, I’ve celebrated their life
No relationship goes without little scraps of paper left in the pockets of jackets I don’t wear anymore
Mar 24, 2022
Mar 24, 2022 at 3:07 AM UTC
Mud and sharp shells between cobblestones
The gray is stained red— I let it stain
I thought I was wearing shoes but I can’t remember (where I put them?)(must’ve floated away)
How much longer of this?
I count the days but I forgot the number
and each morning I start again
And each morning I look for signs from something greater than myself
There’s an odd number of shells, an odd morning I have but it’s always odd and never even
and it never adds up like it’s meant to. I wish I could make it add up
They must’ve floated away
I see your eyes looking back at me but I don’t remember them
I do remember what it felt like
approximately three feet away, that’s the separation
I can never tell if it’s growing or shrinking or doing both at once
It’s a wave in a flood
I’m so far gone it doesn’t matter anymore but it still hurts
The shells are washed up, wedged between the cobblestones
Mar 24, 2022
Mar 24, 2022 at 3:06 AM UTC
Every night.
It isn’t rushing tonight, it’s calm but I’ll still let go of the dock
One finger at a time, slipping off the biofilm
My toes are cold. I’d like to be cold
I’ve never opened my eyes underwater before but I’ll do it now just to see the sun
Mar 24, 2022
Mar 24, 2022 at 3:06 AM UTC
The water moves too quickly
It comes at me in waves, one after the next, unrelenting, cold
I want to give up. Sometimes I think it might be nobler to
Instead of fighting every step, tree bark under my nails
but when I take the high ground and look down at the rushing water
I have the strangest feeling that the dam broke because of me
Mar 24, 2022
Mar 24, 2022 at 3:05 AM UTC
I wish you would call
so I could worry about
someone I know I can walk away from.
Mar 24, 2022
Mar 24, 2022 at 3:05 AM UTC
I listen. I watch every move you make
I look for stains on the tiles
but the signs keep slipping through my fingers
am I not looking hard enough?
am I letting you down?
Oh god I hope I’m not letting you down
I don’t think I could ever forgive myself for making the same mistake twice
Mar 24, 2022
Mar 24, 2022 at 3:04 AM UTC