Sometimes I'll stand in front of that mirror for so long,
I'll forget why I came into the bathroom,
Because I can still see your fingerprints
And a faint outline of a kiss on that hollow spot above my collarbone,
The spot you would kiss romantically
And I would twitch and laugh, because it gave me shivers,
And you would do it again
Because we weren't ****
We were silly, and tickle fights were our thing
The best thing;
And those fingerprints
On my hips and my ribs from holding me close
But mostly in that spot on my back,
Just below my shoulder blade,
Where you would tap your fingers to say Hello,
Remind me you were there, and I was yours;
Those aren't fading very fast;
I was always jealous of your tattoos,
The real ones and the ones that I would trace
When there was no light for me to see
That beauty is truth and truth beauty
But I suppose you gave me tattoos in a way
Left your mark in a way that only I could see
But today,
Today I saw me
Just me,
Clear skinned and smiling.

I think too much
Is that why two years after you wanted to leave this earth
I still can’t get the thought of you collapsing out of my head
Why the idea of you alone in your room
At four in the morning, clambering out of bed
Deciding whether it’ll be a good night to give up your life
Is still in every thought I have, I dread
Those thoughts
The idea of my own future is too much to handle when I still worry you nearly didn’t have your own
I think too much

But were you thinking at all when you drowned yourself in pills
As if paracetemol was the answer
And death was the cure
I couldn’t bring you any closer
You had locked all the doors
But there were broken windows, cracked walls
And I should have seen through them
Maybe that is why I can’t sleep, because my doors are locked tight too.
I think too much
Maybe if I opened my house to you, you would have wiped your scarred feet
And your bony knees could have rested in the warmth of my bed
I would have held your hands for hours, my friend
I would have held them until you fell asleep
Until you didn’t have the energy to find the labelled bottles I still keep
Maybe- Maybe- I could have helped – I
I think too much

I still cry over you
I still cry for you
I feel the blood of your attempts on my own hands
As if they were clasped around your neck
I am not poetic enough
I’m no Lady Macbeth
But the guilt still plagues my skin when I now hug you hello
Because when you are suicidal
No best friend should not know
I think too much

I think about the sirens
Did I hear them that night when they rushed to your place?
Finding sixteen year old child, in her mother’s embrace
Was she crying?
I think about it all the time
Did you pray to the God you’re not sure you believe in?
Did you pray for the end or did you thank him for starting your heart again?
I think about it all the time
Would they have you cremated or buried?
Force you back into the ground before you even had a chance to grow out of it
Like clothes owned previously
Working class families
We bonded over hand me downs
And straps for cash to hold tight what we earned
Would they have dressed you like dolls you could never afford?
Pristine and price tagged
Between us girls, you never suited body bags
Your body shape is best suited to the rise and fall of your chest as you breathe
It does not suit a coffin
Are you finally coughing up the truth now?
The truth is you are alive
You are still alive

I think too much

You were always like a sister to me
And I know things are different now, and we’ve moved away, moved apart
But you still creep into my subconciousness
As if making up
for the two weeks before you told me you’d tried
“I wanted to die” You told me
And in that moment, so did I
It will never stop hurting to imagine it

You are eighteen now
You are beautiful
Smart
All the clichés
But just because something is said often, doesn’t make it untrue
People will never stop saying the words ‘I love you’
I think too much

And that’s why even now that I see you smile
And laugh
And your happiness is so genuine, so true
I still have this incredible, guilt weighing need to write an apology letter to you.
I still don’t think this is enough.
I guess I think too much.

A dog somehow learned cat-speak,
thought the second language, part of his camoflague
but his  attempts for catcall sounded like muffled dog's howl
caterwaul, should I need to say, was all foul,
quite threatening to  any cat with a bit of self-respect.

sometimes i feel like

i’m not really breathing.

sometimes it’s like there’s water

in my lungs.

sometimes i think it’s just because

i’m missing you.

As I looked into her glazed blue eyes
I suddenly became very tired.
Every inch of my body
felt weighted;
heavy.
I had been doing this for
13 years,
hoping, waiting, trying, believing.
Most of the time, I succeeded.
I saved them.
But when I didn't,
when I
failed,
I can't take it.
When I go out with my husband for dinner with friends,
or at parties,
I get asked what I do.
A furrowed eyebrow, a gentle easing voice follows,
"Isn't that hard?"
It's all part of the job, I say.
Taking care of these babies,
making sure they are healthy.
You get used to it, I say.

I wish that were true.
I wish I could say it were that simple.
When my work is dragged, forced in
unannounced like a estranged aunt
in
in
into my personal life,
my husband grabs my hand,
gives me a knowing look.
He thinks he knows how I suffer,
how it pains,
how it rips at my soul --
he has no clue.

Most days, my job is not overwhelming.
Is even rewarding.
Saving lives,
keeping parents' new-born, struggling miracles safe,
trying to make them perfect
like parents always imagined they would be.
On days like this,
when I am forced to look into my responsibility's
eyes
and realize I couldn't save and perfect them,
realize that blank stare will be with
me forever,
I hate my job.