my body is a symphony of sounds
like the
             snap
               —crackle—
                                               pop!
                                of my bones as i stretch and climb the stairs,
                                                         ­                                        the
                     ­                                                                 ­ thud.
                                                           ­              thud.
                                                           thud.
                of my heart, frantic in its rest.
                a shrill ringing underpins it all
        when my ears ***** to a phantom sound,
the
    \gasping\
                               |huffing|
            ­                                      sighing
                                                   ­                   keeps the beat of uncooperative lungs.

               my body, like an old house where teenagers throw a party,
                                 finding a way to keep it alive for one more night.

i dont want to sleep.
i want to keep chasing stardust on lips i'll never taste,
reaching for jupiter when she shines so brightly in the sky,
reminding me of all that could've been—
could still be.
never was.

god, these sleepless hours,
the way the stories chase themselves around my head,
louder than dreams too fleeting.

there's a silence here, in the night,
when everything is still.
a promise that everything could be okay.
could be.

and then the dawn puts stardust to bed,
and i'm left chasing something
i never even got a taste of.

like icarus flying too close to the sun,
i reached out and touched a spark that was never meant for me,
an open flame that burned me alive
and snuffed out all the life around.

to some, i am a person worthy of righteous protection,
the blind spot beneath the tree where
dandelions sometimes get trampled.
i am never enough yet always too much—the
drive-by friend you can wait to see.
on the inside lies a multiverse of
goods and bads, talents and failures.
sometimes i’m pretty, sometimes i’m not,
but i am always something to behold.

and to you?
the one who changes the focus like an optometrist,
“one…or two?”
until my multiverse unites.
a good writer, a good singer, a good friend;
the little things others don’t find funny that always make you laugh;
the validation i’ve been searching for,
an honesty that lets me trust myself a little more.

to you i hope to be an eternity,
a couple of shambling girls united against a world
that doesn’t always have space for people like us.

the discovery of love comes in fits and starts,
beginning with open arms and lullabies
and the things you hope you’ll always hold trust in.

next you discover sleepovers and nights spent talking
about the things you can’t tell anyone else,
the kind of love you hope will last a lifetime.

when you’re older and you meet someone you could talk to for hours,
your first kiss beneath the orange glow of streetlamps,
you think you’ve found it again.

when someone else takes you in their arms,
and you look at the forest when you should look at the trees,
you can confidently say that this is love
until time keeps passing and your future grows nearer,
and suddenly you see someone else in it.

rings that are pre-infinite, plans that seem pre-destined,
the person whose hands you’d rest your life in.

sometimes you hit a snag, but the detour
is all a part of the journey –
familiar sights seen through fresh eyes,
a broadening of your definitions, your boundaries,
a glimpse
at the whole You.

and now there’s another question-riddled entry
under “love,”
with scribbles in the margins saying it should always feel this good.

i love myself more because you show me the parts that are loveable.
maybe that’s the way it should be.
                                                             ­   maybe
                                                        ­                      that’s the final entry.

the way i interact with people gives them bite-sized pieces –
a wince, a sigh, a rant about the last appointment.
i catch myself in surprise when i say i was at the doctor
and they ask if i’m okay, two question marks in their voice,
and i can’t help but laugh before i say yes.
i guess most people go to the doctor for physicals and check-ups,
maybe for strep throat or a sprain,
and not for half an answer,
weeks of waitlists,
waiting.
maybe they’ll even see me tired,
puffy-eyed and curled up on the couch like i came with it,
feeling like a drag when i shake my head and say i’ll stay while they go.
in little moments, if they’re looking, they’ll see me labor up the stairs,
an amused echo of ‘but you’re so young!’ flashing through my mind
as each step sends a sharp pain through my knees.
“you go first,” i insist, hanging back with a smile
before climbing in their wake.

if there’s one thing i’m good at,
it’s unrequired loved –
i even wrote a song about it when i was 13,
though it wasn’t love back then.
maybe i could place first in a talent show
if i clambered up on stage
and told them about
                                     every
                                                single
                                                            almo­st.