and now is just the end of something i cannot begin again
my jaws clenched
skeleton losing all its bones,
suitcase packed and anxious to leave
leave behind the stories
that made you whole,
made you your present self,
leave behind the promises made in may,
the goodbyes frozen in august.
and now the ending is so clear
denial seems impossible of an option,
build up the walls again,
the walls built from fear
hide your body
if you lose it, never was it worth it
lose the weight of progression
start a new world you cannot dismantle
dismantle love, make it unrecognizable
unable to be recognized through a shoulder brush
just another universe, unable to be kept
keep the words to yourself,
swallow the sting of loss
trample the persistent pangs of hunger for the things memory cannot reach
hide until the hiding spot becomes a home
soft and harmless
abandon the idea of forgiveness for yourself,
yourself the one past forgiving.
disappear into the smog,
suitcase in hand,
barely lifted off the ground.
this is the end of something i just cannot bring to begin again.

no man is an island, but all that i see is salt water for miles. its taste as bitter as a slap; i must consume it. get drunk off of it. get lost off of it. die off of it.
there are dangerous things i have loved before; myself with knives pointed backwards towards the fleshy skin of my chest. there are dangerous things i can sing lullabies to bed. dangerous things with beautiful faces and symmetrical smiles, bodies buried underneath acres of rolling fields. for an instant, the harm solely seems to be self-inflicted, a wound the size of an almond, just big enough to recall. but i have swam entire ocean lengths to be someone you’d love, someone you’d capsize a ship for, someone you’d sing lullabies to. i know now i am a hazard, built to strand you until the uncertainty devours you too. the only feeling i’ve ever truly known is to be devoured, by everything / almost as if everything i may love is meant to destroy me, leave me stranded, dehydrated and muffled. sometimes i feel as if it’s just a part of being human—something so human; so deeply human that i am not immune.

not an evergreen,
staying alive has never had simplicity.
i’m angry that i made myself like this,
trimmed my branches,
thought things were not meant to stick to me.
i am angry that i thought
my savior is some wanderlust women
unfit for the journey,
jealous of the destination.

not an evergreen,
i cannot live without water.
the cold pursues me,
prancing in the unbearable wind.
there’s salvation on the edge of the horizon,
some soft meadow to lay my head upon.
along the line of trees, finding is impossible.
somehow not small enough
to be cut down and taken home and,
without a doubt,
i am not tall enough to see.

i don’t want to be a well,
that you only lower water down to
once a day,
or less if it storms.
when it rains,
i imagine i’m swimming in your tears,
soaked to the bone
in your dna.
i don’t want to be a well,
a stone foundation only standing
cause it’s expected to.
don’t wanna hold your secrets
and keep them;
i’m terrified of echoing stone walls.
i don’t want to be a well,
that’s only necessary if you’re thirsty.
when it rains,
you have other methods of drinking.
i don’t want to be a well,
far away from your home,
not part of your warm family.
i don’t want to be a well,
a cavern so deep
you can’t see
the bottom.
i need to be known entirely,
researched and studied,
so carefully,
that they’d cry if they spilled
liquid on me.
i don’t want to be a well,
that dries up in a drought,
so easily forgettable,
if it’s not needed around.
i don’t want to be a well,
i want to be well,
i want dinners inside, keep me alive,
not outside with the rainy season,
the growls and howls of wild beasts
untamed for such a quiet thing
as me.
i don’t want to be a well,
but i’m well over my head,
tripping over my own feet,
clunked with buckets constantly.
i want to be warm,
kept in from the cold,
the snow doesn’t know me;
i don’t know its fury.
would you get to know me,
if i wasn’t providing you energy
and love and my own sanity?
would you consider banishing
me?

could i love you more?
i have bandages, garments, hair ties—
things to contain me.
i’ll overdose on your medicine
yet i’m not completely sure how
to be swallowed whole by something
and not desire to be spat out.
i don’t understand my heart,
no one has ever tried to touch it
without my hand slapping them
out of the way.
i couldn’t love you less.
i’m beaten down and clawing
at my insides from the inside
out;
do not know how to undue the erratic.  
hands that could aid me
would only shape me
into such an apathetic shell
that couldn’t understand love
even if she tried.
and in trying,
i have hurt and abused
the very medicine intended to cure me
of such a sick and twisted nature.

i could not love you any less.

there is still time
to remember myself,
the happiest hours, the blooming trees.
there is still time to be someone.
there is still time to share my heart.
there is still time to remember who i was
before the isolation like a vine,
tied me up and kept me stranded.
there is no more of a reason to keep distress in my bed,
the villain disguised as an ally.
there is still time to believe and believe
as if the world never left me naked
and spiteful.
there is still time to give myself chances.
there is still time left to live even amidst the pressure.
there is still time to forgive,
there is still time to believe in myself
of all things.

i've been let down
countless times.
i've lost who i was while not knowing who i've ever been
but it doesn't matter anymore. i've
sketched the ideas of people who have failed me over and over again,
or perhaps i have failed them.
offered myself to some kind of world that casts me out,
that calls me a stranger, a liar, a dancer with no stage.
i've lost the need to love--it never needed me,
how should i desire its harsh arms? for the sake
of fear, fear of existing alone, living for myself?
and what is being alone--
the loneliest i ever felt was in a crowd, a crowd that does not
look deep into itself
to realize its austerity, to realize its small mindedness.
but to be alone is when the phone never rings, the welcome is slow and uneasy, the whole world is singing to a melody you cannot understand.
when all you want to do is love,
but nothing wants to love you, not even yourself
and you don't even blame anyone anymore.
how could you?