the thing I hate admitting the most
is that I miss you

a familiar feeling, this I know
residing in the base of my ribcage
pushed down with every breath I take
tucked away in the shadows of everyday
supposed to be forgotten until a more convenient time

but what is a convenient time
when every minute passes like nothing
when days and weeks drag on like eternities
when my waking hours are pockets of time turning up empty

I get stuffed into cars and trains and planes
watching as cities go by like mere blurs in my vision
counting broken streetlamps and closing my eyes against the dawn
drumming my fingertips against my seat
looking over at my sleeping companions
and thinking about how it felt to hear you whisper softly
asking if we’re already there

used to take deep breaths while lowering my shoulders when I’m with you
used to let my laugh resonate in the too-quiet spaces
used to let you know about what I have always hid from the world
used to hold my arms open for you to come into

but now I’d rather not stay too close to you
knowing that my everything will go rigid at the tension I didn’t even know we had
too aware of every word and every sound I make
a longing to go back but understanding that everything  is well in the past

we are adults now, after all
no more of the youth that made us giggle at each other’s shenanigans
talk of dreams isn’t even something we have time for
as we end up worlds away from a home we’ve shared over the years

maybe we can tell them that we tried
what with all the differences that became bricks in the wall between us
knocked on each other’s doors and holding onto a shred of hope that somebody will answer
picked up conversation again and again but knowing it will go nowhere
not the nowhere we used to be lost together in
but the nowhere we now hate

I don’t know how to talk to you
about the hate I feel for myself and how I want to claw my own being out
about the exhaustion that won’t go away with sleep
about old pictures that I can’t even bear to look at without feeling sad
about how much I want to talk to you after all this time

sometimes I’m worried I might forget
the sound of your laugh whenever I try to dance
because all my life I’ve never been great at moving in time to music
how your hands are holding me by the waist and trying to guide me through steps
those eyes I can’t look into anymore sparkling with contentment
the last strains of a song from somewhere enough for us to glide to

or maybe in a few years’ time I won’t remember
the soft but sure way you lean into a hug
arms around me with so much strength and yet the most care
I never knew what fitting perfectly with someone felt like before you
telling me things I can’t quite comprehend through all my tears
and I have so many words, none of which I can say
because how can you understand when even then, right there in your embrace
we were already so far away?

I keep myself up at night to try to run through it all
how we’ve soared and fallen and gotten up again and again
offering arms and hands to steady each other
sharing earphones and nodding to music only we can hear
quiet moments where we both looked down at our laps
our uneven breaths as we walked back with the sun only starting to set

I’d hate to ask for time
when for a while it was me who couldn’t make time for you
making excuses and shutting you out from the chaos of who I was
but I need it now more than ever
with the burden on my spine pushing me down further

no, I don’t want to ask you to carry it with me
for it is mine to bear
all I want is the way you used to hold me as I broke
maybe it won’t put everything back together like it used to
but for now, I don’t need it to

I’d hate to ask for explanations
when I don’t even have one for how I set out on my own without you
drifting from you like the paper boats on floodwater
but I want my heart to be quieted
from the doubts that plague it but have long been ignored

no, I don’t want to ask you to fight to keep this
for it is I who caused the rift
all I want is to hear about how it felt to see me go where it was hard to follow me
all I want is for you to explain why when you told me I was beautiful in a language I couldn’t understand, I still knew
why you keep telling the world I’m someone to be proud of when even I’m not proud of myself

I have come to accept it all, though
watching as your back disappears into the shadows after being bathed in neon
turning to the sea of glitter and flashes and smiles
knowing this was your world too
and choosing to leave it all behind is best
you say there isn’t much of a place left here for you
I keep thinking that your place is with me

but I will go back to the place where we grew together
dance to the songs you forgot to pack with you
let my smile reach the heavens we stared at for too long
watch as everything blurs as I go
knowing that someday, maybe
you will know what place to come home to.

the scars on my knuckles.

the scars on my knuckles,
pink and raw and sometimes holding little white mountains,
in which the fingers of my left hand like to climb.
at each crevice a river of deceit forms,
a new story i create.

you see-
the scars on my knuckles were made,
in a battle with a sleek white polar bear.
we faced off on an arena of ice, bearing nothing but hands as weapons.
definitely.
my palms held hurricanes,
they destroyed everything in their path.
i won, of course, but not without struggle.
plenty of struggle...

the scars on my knuckles appeared,
after having fallen into a thorn bush.
furious needles scraped away my skin and left their mark.
it was a journey to rescue a soccer ball.
clearly i was a hero,
and well-
i had used my hands... as a shield to my face.
totally did that.

a wall has formed along the border of my mind,
keeping thoughts and reality at a distance for fear of war...
of scaring them.
knuckles holding a pink sadness,
a vulnerability,
introduced to me on a red night in november.
a clenched fist sang as it rammed its sorry skin into cement.
sea foam scrubs holding me to the ground,
restraint.
a jail cell made up of kind words and soft hands.

i'm sorry.