We all slowly grew up.

Stopped sewing patches of fabric
Into our shirts
To hide our *******,
Replaced the Christian music on our shelves and playlists
With pop, and emo songs,
Or old rock and roll.
Toby Mac was slowly retired to the thrift store,
And some of us stopped going to church.
In some small way,
I’m sure it felt to our parents
As if Jesus had died all over again.

Our vocabularies changed,
The lists of things we wouldn’t do before marriage became shorter
And shorter,
Until to some,
They were non existent.

Alcohol became as regular
As morning coffee,
And ****
A little extra seasoning.

Self destruction
Instead of
Preserving
The purity
Our parents forced on us
From day one.

The door opened,
It flew open.
There’s something about a door being opened
That was closed your entire
Life
That makes you want to go in.

Easter outfits
And gold cross necklaces
Turned into tattoos
And nose rings.
We got out into the world
And discovered
That people who don’t throw
Bible verses around
Like confetti
Aren’t bad,
And the cautionary tales of our youth
Were something we wanted to try.

Red nail polish
Was considered promiscuous,
And now it’s a tame
Contribution to our wardrobes.
Our first tattoos
Made some of our parents cry.

No more
Sending us back to our rooms
To change out of
An outfit
Unfit
For church,
No more warning
About wearing colors
That are too bright.

I study verses
And wonder
What God thinks
Of his people dressing up
His dying son
Like a trick poodle at a circus.
Displaying him proudly
When he does what they want,
Hoping the crowd won’t notice
When he ignores
Their orders.

We all slowly grew up,
And I found my own faith.
A kinder one,
With a loving just God.

Lips that had never been chapped
By liquor,
Or seasoned with smoke.
We had everyone to blame
But ourselves.

You had bubble gum pink hair
And a goody-good attitude
With a hidden mean streak.
I had choppy hair I cut myself
And an in your face attitude
With a hidden kind streak.

I rarely told the whole truth
And you were proud of yourself
Whenever you kept a secret
More than a week.

You told me best friends hold hands
By holding pinkies,
But when we got our first tattoos
We gripped each other’s five whole fingers,
Because if you’re going to make a potentially bad decision
You may as well
Do it wholeheartedly.

We walked dogs
And giggled about boy bands
It was nothing too unusual.

But I had a feminist agenda
And you wanted a boy to tell you
What to do.
Your mom always told us
We’d be happy when we have a man
To make the hard decisions,
And I never bought it.
You never objected.

There would be nights
I couldn’t handle
The sound of my phone vibrating
To announce your messages,
and I couldn't handle looking at them,
I worried if I didn't take care of you
that you would fly into a thousand pieces,
your messages were evidence of that.
But sometimes I still needed to sleep,
or breathe,
and I couldn't guarantee those things as your friend.

When the summer turned my nose pink
and brought freckles to the surface of our faces
we shared milkshakes
and giggles about boys.
We wore each other's shoes
and pajama pants,
did each other's makeup,
and wouldn't buy clothes
without checking in
on the other's opinion.

It was all so ordinary,
yet so abnormal
and painful.

In our early twenties
we starting drinking together,
and that quickly became
one of the only things I could do with you.
You didn't want to go out,
or talk,
or anything.
Just go to work,
come home,
drink,
and watch TV.
I had to be a part of that world
if I wanted to be your friend.

I wanted more,
and that's what killed our friendship.
I wanted more than everything
being your way.

I could blame your boyfriend,
because he was more important to you
than I was,
but it isn't his fault.
His only fault was not being able
to handle other people.

If you ever go looking for reasons why,
know I don't hate you.
I remember camping out in tents in your front lawn
and I know that I cannot do anything
but miss some of those memories,
but I needed more,
and less.

More friendship,
less dysfunction.

I didn't know how to rebuild it,
and I tried in all the wrong ways...
but I would've thought
that you'd still be there
if I needed you.

Who would've thought
that I would be the one
to fly apart,
but I did,
and suddenly you weren't there.
You couldn't look me in the eye.
You'd demanded my help for the majority of my life,
but all you could muster the courage to do
was send me a text,
a text that if I read between the lines properly
told me
that I wasn't your problem,
but you wished me well.

I think that's a good way to end it,
you got it right.

You're not my problem anymore,
but I wish you well.

Have you ever seen Breakfast at Tiffany’s?
It’s a classic.
It’s a classic because of the intense plunge into chaos.

The mean reds.

The mean reds is what she called it,
And I can’t think of a better term.

Heart pounding,
Face flushed,
A cavity
Where my stomach should be,
And I can’t find a distraction
That works.
No music can play back
This shaky yet still feeling
And make it make sense.

The mean reds she said.

I have a case of the mean reds

I don't see the dead look
in my mother's eyes
so often anymore,
but I remember it.

I remember her being nothing.

I remember how she would sob,
full
body shaking,
lung-crushing,
sob.

I carry those memories of her.

Home smelled
Like ginger
And cheap liquor.

Like stir fry
And dish soap.

Home smelled
Like saw dust
And cotton yarn.

Like night time showers
And cups of herbal tea.

Home smelled
Like three different fall candles
All lit at once,
And bleach.

Home smelled
Like soy sauce
And garlic.

What was it she used to say?
Like a Chinese
Grocery store..?

Home smelled
Like Warm Vanilla Sugar
And Endless Weekend.

Like pumpkin spice
And stroop waffles.

It smelled like paint
And dried flowers.

When I walk in,
It all
Rushes
Back.

Stir fry,
And pumpkin spice,
It fills my nose
And makes me choke.
My head spins
And my stomach
Feels heavy
Inside me.

Home doesn’t have a smell anymore.

Those are now
The smells of yelling,
Of attempted suicide,
Of loneliness,
And betrayal.

Those are the smells
Of sleepless nights,
Of being called a *****,
Of dreading the sound his clunky boots make against the wood floor,
And their laughter.

Home doesn’t have a smell anymore,
Because I don’t have a home anymore.

It’s a cruel mistress.

It airbrushes our stomachs
And our thigh.

It becomes friendly between our legs,
Under our arms,
And I’m our heads.

A gold lamp sat on his desk.
The paint had been rubbed off
on the angles and various edges.
When left on for too long,
it became hot,
untouchable.

There are things my mother
kept around,
I don't know why she did,
Such as the cracks in the walls
from being kicked too hard,
her bed frame
she claimed to have been
pushed onto
and then hit by his fists.
Or a lamp
that got too hot,
and needed a firm hand to twist the ****
that turned it off
and on
again.

There are memories of him
I don’t know why
I keep around.
His messy work desk,
His big powerful hands,
His booming voice.

I allow my mother room
To keep pieces of him
Because it’s hard to forget
A husband of over twenty years.

I allow myself room
To not forget him,
Because it’s hard to hate your father
Forever.

Your words
Painted my face and body
With dull
Ugly colors.

My thoughts
Painted my face and body
Into a garden landscape.

I was a barefoot
Mismatched child.
My hands were grubby and calloused,
My legs were scratched from the bracken
In the tall grass.

I grew slipping between the cracks,
Carefully avoiding the hot concrete,
Thirstily drinking up the rain and sunlight.

I’m not afraid of surviving,
I’m good at surviving.

My legs grew,
And my jeans didn't.
My feet didn't fit their shoes,
And I recall hiding food
so no one else could take it from me.

Weeds are not afraid to grow,
The only chance you get
Is the ones you make.

I sit, listening to you talk about
our hair brained scheme
to make me a writer.
All you do is support.

Every phase meets your unwavering love.
No fear in my latest poison being forever.
No scolding me
because you worry
I'll never get better.

Instead you proof read,
plan,
love,
and support.

Never do I feel as if my failure
would cause you to be
disappointed
in me.
Never do I worry
any success
would make jealousy burn
between your ears.

Instead you listen,
you love,
you cultivate.

I am not a thing to you,
I am a small sapling
you water,
and trim the dead parts off of.
I am an investment,
you already accept
an unknown ending to.

We have so many windows.

A grey cement floor,
A bucket, a mop,
My red happy shoes are squeaking
On the damp floor.

Making circles
Of magic mirrors
Around where I stand.
The sunlight reflecting
On the glassy floor
Distorts my vision
And my image in the water

The water and soap
Scrubbing away
Coffee conversations
Of past days,
And mud from boots
That carried the forest in.

There’s a magic in the bubbles
And the water
Dancing with the light,
Becoming one.

We have so many windows.

Have you ever seen
A pumpkin spice
Volkswagen van?

Have you ever smelled
The sick scent
Of your best friend
Laying on your kitchen floor
Covered in her own *****?

Have you ever seen
A girl naked
Having her stomach purged
Of all the poison she put in her body?

Have you ever been too shaky
To walk in a straight line
The next day?

Have you ever gone to work
The day after you tried to **** yourself?

Have you ever told your boss
You might be gone for a week
Because you needed to go to the psych ward,
And had her angry with you
Because she was going to be short staffed?

Have you ever had someone who was once
One of your best friends
Tell you he would do the bare legal minimum
For you?

Have you ever known
That you will never trust anyone
Ever again?

Have you ever woken up
Next to a man who
****** you
After you finished puking your guts out
Because you tried to **** yourself?

Have you ever only remembered
Bits and pieces of having *** with him?

Have you ever seen
A pumpkin spice
Volkswagen van?

I read pages and pages
Of my life from years ago,
And the realization
That was so alone
Was so loud.

Two years later,
Some things have changed...
But tonight,
Hell...
Tonight I shouldn’t have been alone,
But I am again.

Last night.
It was as if we were strangers
Passing each other
On the street,
Instead of almost twenty years
Of history.

But it didn’t hurt.
It felt...
Okay.

I thought we could be
Maybe I thought
Happy

I couldn’t tell from so far away
Whether he was a star
Or a satellite.

I want a place
To rest in,
A home
So badly
It makes me ache

Naked felt good
When my consciousness
Was just a kite
I flew far
Above my head.

The feeling
Of revealing
My darkest secrets
To a crowd of people
In a dimly lit pagan bar
Used to be the things
Fantasies were made of.
Because they didn’t matter.

The darkest parts of myself didn’t matter for a moment
Because I was so far away from the world,
So detached from myself,
That the adrenaline
Almost roused me to wake up
From my daze,
And the feeling was addicting.

I fell down from the sky.
I fell hard.
I came back,
Hardly able to walk
For a few days
It was such an impact,
And suddenly things matter again.

Strangers kissing me in the dark
Doesn’t sooth me,
It hurts to even consider it.
Because I was so lonely,
And it was just a glaring reminder
That I was so
Lonely and dissatisfied.

But you carefully unwrapped me,
Gently tugged at the folds
So not to rip the paper,
And you looked at the bare body inside.
I’m raw.
My skin is pink and burned,
I feel pain even at soft touches.
I left my body behind
For so long
I didn’t even know
The damage that had been done.

You run your hand
Along the curves,
The cuts,
And the bruises.
You kiss the dry
Cracking skin,
And I feel truly
Naked,
Vulnerable,
And released.

Something wicked this way waltzes,
Through the clouds of dust
And lazy warm sunlight.
Twisted with your breath
On my cheek,
Tangled up between your whispered
Words
In my ear.

Something wicked in your fingers
Holding mine,
Something dangerous in our closeness,
Something intensely painful
In your "love".

Something wicked in you comes,
So something strong in me
Helps me leave.

Remember not to forget
This is why you’re leaving.
Because no one truly
Wants you here.

Remember not to forget
This is why you run to men
Who don’t look at you
As more than just
Young meat
Ripe
And vulnerable.
Because it feels better
To experience
Their desire
Than to feel alone.

Remember not to forget
This isn’t your home anymore.
No one wants you here,
They’re counting down the second
Until you’re gone.

The sky is a beautiful blue
Above this field of dandelions
Gone to seed.
I laid down in them,
And the soft puffy seeds flew around me,
I breathed them in
And they filled my lungs.
Now I can’t breathe
I’m suffocating,
And it’s so beautiful.

I hate my body.

I hate the curves
And bulges,
I hate the fat
And folds.

I hate the stretch marks
And freckles,
I hate my round plump face,
And my puffy chin.

I hate my short neck,
And my uneven *******,
I hate my fat thighs,
And saggy ***.

I hate my stomach,
And my chubby arms,
I hate my calloused feet,
And my small hands.

But most of all...

I hate not being enough.

I knew what men were made of.
Clunky boots
And booming voices.
I knew that alcohol
And smoke
Ran through their veins.

It was truth to me,
Reality.
I understood
That men’s hands were rough
And unrelenting.
That comic books and video games
Are a tempting guise.
Men were made of anger
And demands.
***, power,
and the confusion of the two

But then I met you.
And you’re made of cigar smoke
And cartoons.
Flannel shirts and midnight laughter.
You’re whiskey neat
Gently touching my face
Simply for the pleasure of being near me.

You’re conviction
And ADD,
Religion and cups of black coffee.
I keep waiting for a break
In your love.
I search for the lie
In your kindness.
But you watch TV with your baby sister,
And look for solutions to my worries.
You laugh when I get hot under the collar
And insist on buying me chocolate,
Because you know I’m too polite to ask.

It’s nothing earth shaking,
It isn’t running to each other in the rain.
Not a dozen roses,
Or diamonds.
But I know now
That men aren’t made
Of scary things in the dark.
I know that you’re you,
And I’m yours.

Two nights in a row
I came home to the panicked
Flapping of wings
In the garage.

A bird,
Crying and flying
Circling the garage ceiling,
With the door
Wide
Open.

I picked up a mop
Hanging on the wall,
Brandished it like a saber,
And ran in circles around the car
Trying to convince
The sparrow
That there was
A way of escape.

Panicking,
Crying,
Flying
In circles,
And all you have to do
Is leave.

When I drive,
And you get excited
About what you see out side,
Because you can let your mind wander.

When you put your fingers
Inside
The rips
In my predistressed jeans.

When you show me
A movie,
And watch me
With hopeful anticipation,
To see if I like it.

When you get all dressed up
In your favorite
Hawaiian shirt
Or flannel.
And that spring in your step
When you wear your black converse.

When you start falling asleep,
And your body twitches.
Then when you bury your face into my shoulder.

Hell,
You’re so cute,
I feel it in my gut.
It’s been a little while,
And you’re so precious to me.

This is a message
To the me
That has been left
Switched to “on”
For what feels like
Too long.

The me
Who’s held a lot in lately,
And is afraid to release.

The me
With the noisy engine
Left running.

The me
Who is frustrated and tired,
But tries not to show it.

To the me
With the circuits whirring,
And the fan buzzing,
Yet still too hot to the touch
From being “on”
For longer than ever before.

The me,
Who’s head and heart
Are heavy,
Who sometimes feels ready
To give up.
But doesn’t.

The version of myself
Who’s smiled more
Than she wanted to,
And made more small talk
Than she thought
She could stand.

The me
Who doesn’t know
What she’s doing,
But is trying to keep
From looking too bothered by it.

To the me
Who’s been “on”
For what what feels like
too long,
Who’s batteries are drained
And doesn’t know how
To recharge.

You’re doing okay,
And I’m proud of you
Even if you’re tired.

That dark thought is always
In my head.
Like an air bag ready to go off,
A “just in case.”

It’s the words that function
As padding in a cell
I’ve trapped myself in.

“If it gets too hard, I don’t have to be here.”

I used to walk
Down the street
With a smile on my face,
When I was young,
And foolish.
When the world
Felt safe.

I wore red
Thigh high
High healed
Boots
Last night.

“Could I please get a whisky neat?”

The night was deliciously cool,
The air was fresh and green.
Twinkling soft yellow lights,
And neon signs.

I just want to forget
The lonely feeling in the back
Of my head
As I watched you two
Play darts
For the first time,
Laughing and kissing.

“Could I get another whisky neat, please?”

I laughed with a girl at the bar
Who had bright red hair.
I’m trying to learn how to do this,
How to meet people,
How to find someone else
To help me forget about him.

The two of you
Fit together so neatly,
So effortlessly.
You got nervous
(We’re only just twenty-one)
And forgot to order
The shot to go in your Diet Coke,
So he ordered you one,
And dumped it in on the sly,
So you wouldn’t be embarrassed.

“Another whisky, please?”

I made it down the stairs
And pretended
I was in control.
I didn’t want to be in control,
I don’t want to be in control,
I’m so controlled.
My heals tapping
On the bricks outside,
I merrily lead the way
To bar number two.
I want to do
Everything he said I couldn’t.

“Could I get a pint of the Hopshire beer, please?”

New places,
New faces,
Movies make this look so easy.
Soft yellow light,
Exposed brick walls.
It’s a little fuzzy...
I don’t want to think about him.

I don’t want to think about him.

I DON’T WANT TO THINK ABOUT HIM.

I always thought I
Was above this sort of thing,
But my head was spinning,
Our glasses were clinking,
And my boots
Got harder to walk in.

You’re so happy together,
And I wish I had that.

I will only
Let him kiss me
While we’re tangled up in bed.

At dinner we are friends.

I will only let him hold me
In private,
Far from the eyes of anyone who would question it.

We walk down the street
Side by side
Never touching.

He tells me about her,
How he doesn’t understand
Whether or not she loves him.

It takes an hour or so
Of holding each other
Before we decide to be
Truly affectionate.

I’ve set myself up
For a good deal of heartbreak.

That summer
you were jealous
That I had found a yellow sun dress
with tiny blue and white flowers.
Yellow,
your favorite color.
They didn't have one left
in your size,
and you were angry.
Like,
actually angry,
and mostly at me.

I'm folding my laundry,
and a shirt I bought
a few months ago,
back when I still
cared
about your opinion
landed in my hands like a gold finch.
A gold finch
with bright white polka dots.

"I saw her a few weeks ago,
she said she thinks about reaching out
to you
sometimes,
and that you don't seem as if
you're in a good place..."
My old roommate shifted uncomfortably
in his chair across from me
as he said it.

"I'm good."

I am good.

And thinking about it
isn't good enough.
Doing it wouldn't be good enough either.
Because I like myself without you.

The color yellow
used to make me think
of your bubblegum pink hair,
and your taste in music
when you were having a good day.

Now it makes me think
of how seldom
the good days were.
How you picked yourself a part,
as well as anyone who got close to you.

Yellow once made me think
of sunsets and evening dog walks.
Of converse sneakers
and paper cranes.
Yellow made me think of the
best parts
of you.

Now my face falls
as I remember
how angry with me you were
because I had a pretty dress.
The poor girl
who never got anything
she didn't pay for
got a pretty new dress,
and you were angry.

You've lost the privilege
of knowing me enough
to talk about me,
but I know you're still doing it.

Eventually I'll stop writing
brokenhearted poetry,
and maybe you'll stop talking,
but I doubt it.

All talk and no action,
it was one of your worst qualities.
But now I'm grateful for it.

If you think
of sending a glowing text
my way,
remind yourself
of when I told you
I tried to **** myself,
and you hid from my face
behind your phone.
Why change now?

I like myself better
without you.

His face is sunshine
and his hands are kindness,
his body is warmth,
and his smile is relief.

I’ve been locked out of love,
Hands pounding on the doors,
Wearing a straw dress
Soaked in kerosene,
Standing on hot coals.

People do talk,
And when they talk,
They ask me why I bother with you.

Because it stings
When I walk away.

My siblings,
Looking so far
Down their noses
The rest of us
Look small and insignificant.

I learned a very important
Lesson
When I almost succeeded
In committing suicide.

Suicide wasn’t about how I felt,
It was about how terribly uncomfortable
The attempt made everyone else.
How utterly inconvenient.

I lack finesse
And social grace,
I’m not particularly smart,
Or pretty
Or interesting,
And that makes me
Uncomfortable
For them.

I looked in the mirror
Last night
And made a detailed list
Of all the things I wanted to yell
At each
And every one
Of them.

Then it occurred to me,
Something amazing,
Fantastic even...
Something I should’ve understood
When I tried to tell people
I had been *****.

They
Don’t
Care.

I will destroy myself
In a million ways
To take care of people
Who won’t care about me.

I can throw love,
Money,
Everything
At them,
But nothing matters.

I told people I would’ve cut myself open for
That I tried to **** myself.

Not a call,
Or a text,
Or anything.
Nothing.
Radio silence
Fuzzy in my ears.

Because I don’t matter.
I’m not one of the important ones.

When I was just a girl,
And my face was being freshly painted
By puberty,
They each
Took a knife
And carved their names
Into the bottoms of my feet,
So it would always hurt
When I tried to walk away.

I made my own medicine,
Found the antidote
To the poison.
I’m wrapping my wounds
In bandages,
And I
Am walking
Away.

I want to stop
Feeling things
In the way that I do.

I took what hurt me the most
And I embraced it.
I took *** into stride,
Even let it attach itself to my identity
Like a burr.

I welcomed men between my legs
To trick myself into believing
That I’m in control,
And then I got I sharp reminder I am not.

I am full of a lot of
Different people’s
Pain.
I drank until it didn’t hurt
I smoked until I couldn’t remember
Why I was sad
I let myself
Die inside.
Burned my body
From the inside out
Just to forget.

I don’t believe in happy endings.

I don’t believe I get to have everything
I ever dreamed of.

I believe in self destruction
In holding what kills you close
So you know when to keep your guard up
And that’s always.

I believe in God.
But I believe he made me as a side character
In a story I keep trying to be the protagonist in.

I believe in me
On my own
Without someone,
Because me
I can control

Whiskey kisses my lips,
and tickles the back of my throat
in friendly warmth.

My fingers are cold in the rented room I live in,
typing all feeling left in them into my laptop.

I am writing.
Writing hard about the things
that deprive me of sleep.

I am drinking,
just a nip here
and
there,
To trick my brain
into letting the truth escape.

If there was anything I used to believe
It was that he loved me.

I’ve become too used to you.
You can’t be my life,
You’re only a person.

My life is my own,
It’s not made of your love.

I must somehow face being alone
And be okay with it.
I have to embrace the nights that you aren’t here.

I have to remember
That when I cry on the bathroom floor
Until I make myself sick
No
One
Is coming.
No
One
Can
Hear
Me.

You told me once,
It was in the middle of winter
And we were driving home
In the truck that belonged to your grandfather
He had just died...
You told me that I was your resting place.
I told you that you are mine.

I don’t know exactly what I’ve become lately,
But it isn’t a resting place any longer.
I take up too much space.

I’ve been terrified of that
since I was a child.
Never having enough space to take up,
Being too much,
Or too little...
I can’t really find an in between.

You can’t be my life,
It isn’t fair.
I have to learn how to be alone again.
How to love my time by myself so much
I don’t want to leave again.

But I tasted what it was to not be lonely.
And I crave it.

I finally figured it out.
Put my finger on the rotting tooth
That’s been causing me pain.
I’m all cut up inside
Because I’ll never be enough for them.

“I want to be friends again...”

That’s all I wanted.

“...for her sake.”

That’s when I realized
I cared a hell of a lot more
Than he ever did.

I can’t stand to be forgotten,
But I don’t want the responsibility of existing.
Maybe I would prefer
That the world
Would just disappear.

So I know
It’s been a while,
And clean cut
Christian kids
Cut out of the same cloth
Like paper snow flakes
Aren’t exactly the easiest for me to fit in with,
But here we are.

I’m a tapestry
Of giving in
To temptation,
The occasional witch craft,
And even drugs,
But I know how to play the part.

I just can’t breathe while doing it.

Take out a glass,
Fill it with ice,
Shake your pride with it
And swallow it.

As the evening sun
Was setting
I was looking up into his eyes
Pleasuring him,
Swirling pretty pictures
With my tongue.
And now
In the night low light
I look up at a steeple.

I don’t belong here any more.
I never did,
But I used to try.
And now
It all feels empty.

I give up a little piece of me
In my moments of anxiety.
Then take comfort in the idea
Of murky dark nothingness
To take the edge off of the pressure.

I close my eyes,
And succumb to the darkness,
Letting myself
Float above my body,
And away from worry.
Or, as the experts call it,
A depression nap.

People keep telling me they’re worried about me,
But they don’t actually try and do anything about it.
Saying it to me makes them feel better,
And we’re all so incredibly selfish,
That’s all they’re after.
So they worry at me,
And I nod, saying something polite...
And they feel better.

I’m not completely oblivious,
I know the signs
When I’m emotionally crashing.
I understand when I can hear the constant background sound of a
car wreck
Inside my head
That there’s something
Wrong.
I know I’m crashing right now.

Every time I try to dig myself out
I find a new reason.

Wake up,
Brush teeth,
Don’t act to sad or it becomes the discussion of the day,
Go home to an empty house that’s filled with holes meant for people who are gone now,
Brush teeth,
Go to sleep,
Rinse and repeat.

It’s easy for me
To forget the severity,
Until the tunnel vision,
The shaking,
And the vomiting
Start happening.

It’s easy to brush it off
And call it an old problem,
Just because the triggers
Are becoming fewer and farther
Between.

But they still happen.
They still hurt.
I’m strong,
And I’m fighting to gain control,
But losing it feels like failure sometimes.

It used to give me a sinking feeling inside,
A fear.
I would be happy, and my first thought would be that
Something
Bad
Was going to happen.

But not this time.

This time I know,
Something bad will happen,
And then that bad thing will end,
And then something good will happen again.
But it’s not the external events
I can’t control
That make me content,
It’s me.

And I’ve decided to be content.

I’m trying not to take up space
In your life.
Trying to plaster myself to the wall
As only and observer
An art piece.
Occasionally admired,
Taken out
And shown to people,
But mostly just
To decorate an empty room.

I’m trying to be satisfied as that,
But you keep apologizing,
And that keeps reminding me
That I should be allowed more.

He’s beautiful,
Isn’t he?
And for once in my life
I feel as if
I may be on the right path,
Even if it happened by accident.

He kisses my hand
Every few minutes.
He lets me be
Whatever I need to be,
And he’s always there to open the door,
Or help me close it.

His room is a museum
Of curiosities,
They make me feel at home.
Like something inside him
Matches something inside me.
Every detailed interest,
Every phase of life
So lovingly given a home
And displayed.
I want to run my fingers
Down the spines of his books
For the simple pleasure
Of the feeling.

It’s the first time
I’ve felt calm,
The first time,
I fit in a family,

I’m not afraid of any
Monstrous part of him,
Only praying nervous prayers
That I get to keep him.

He’s my
Good decision,
My happy thoughts.
He’s my love.

“They don’t get to decide
Who you are
Based off of whatever fragment
Of you
They see.

“You’re you.
You’re not someone else
Just because someone thinks you are.
That’s a dangerous way of thinking.

“Honey, you cant keep letting people
Tell you what you are.
You don’t stop being you
Because they said you’re something else.
All they see are fragments,
Never the complete you.
So what right does anyone have
To tell you
What you are?

“Stop finding your identity
In other people.”

His mouth opens slightly
Releasing smoke
From the big cigar
To float away
Silhouetted by the small town lights.
Windows rolled down
We shiver against the winter air
Blasting into the car,
Puffing cigars
And holding hands.

Stop making decisions
You know are bad.