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

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.

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

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

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

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

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