You hold me at arm's length
Afraid of my gaze
Afraid of my touch
Afraid of my love
Afraid of my leaving.

I hold you at arm's length
Ashamed of myself
Ashamed of my thoughts
Ashamed of my pain
Ashamed of my emotions.

We hold each other at arm's length
Accustomed to the space
Accustomed to the silence
Accustomed to the solitude
Accustomed to the seclusion.

We hold each other at arm's length
At arms length, but we hold each other still.

I went to see her.
The skinny doctor lady.
She tested my blood.

She tested my mind,
While waiting for the blood test.
Severely depressed.

I knew that, of course.
I have known since I was nine.
Just confirmation.

I told her my pain.
That all-over, horrid pain.
Everywhere. Always.

Fibromyalgia.
Silent, Invisible Pain.
It makes so much sense.

The blood tests came back.
Her drawn-in eyebrows furrowed.
I'm diabetic.

She looked so worried.
I am nearly anemic.
What else could go wrong?

Dejected, she said
I can't have children. Ever.
I am broken now.

Invisible pain.
Emotional. Physical.
No death to stop it.

The past few weeks,
I've been asking you to go home early.
One more minute, baby.
One more hour.
I'll go home at 1.
2 o'clock, I promise.

Six o'clock comes around,
And I rise with the sun.
And you're stretched like a cat on the floor.

Sharing a tiny couch isn't ideal.
It isn't fun.
It's too warm on one side,
And freezing on the other.
There is no middle ground.

I've spent 24 full hours without you,
Waiting on 24 more.
I hate it.
I want my body to be frigid on one side.
And boiling on the other.

I want you to squish my arm,
And send pain shooting up my spine
With an accidental knee to the back.

I want you to squeeze me
To the point where it's uncomfortable.

I want to be next to you,
To be near you.
As much as possible.
As long as I can.
I want to be yours.

I had a dream of you last night.
A simple dream but a dream nonetheless.
I dreamt that you held me tight.
Held me in your arms,  against your chest.

I was disgusted.
I was distraught.
Before waking, I mustered a final thought.

I hate you.

A little slip of my fragile mind
And I don't want to exist.

A little slip of my hand
Leaves blood dripping off of my wrist.

A little slip of my tongue
Lets you know what's going on.

And when you slip your hand in mine
You help me to be strong.

I get home from work,
And settle down on the couch.
Food and Netflix time.

We sit across a tiny table.
Passing the time by passing our intellect back and forth,
Yet both keeping secrets hidden away.

I can read it on your face, though.
Though you try to hide it,
I can always see right through you.

We are no longer at an impasse,
But you don't want me to know that until you are ready.
All of this is checkered across your face.

I sit in wait for you to make your move,
To reach out and take your queen.
I am always waiting for you,
In this endless game.

Your gaze raises and grasps mine.
You lick the lips of your gaping mouth,
You lean forward and say,
"Oh is it my turn?"

That was the longest game of chess that I have ever played.