i get excited
when her name
pops up on my phone
when she texts me first
when she asks me to hangout
how lovely it is
to feel wanted
and to want back

i write them in my notes
keep them like postcards
i cannot bring myself to send
i want to tell you i'm sorry
because i am
i'm really sorry
i'm sorry
that was the best we could do
i'm sorry
that i asked too much of you
i'm sorry
i acted so selfish
i'm sorry
it has taken me so long
i'm sorry
i cannot bring myself to send
the **** postcard

and now that you have seen all of me
not all of me exactly
but more of me than anyone else
i am terrified
because i still feel vulnerable
in your arms

the boy who grabbed me at a party
and ran his hand up my inner thigh
while i stood tense and
pushed his hand away
lives on the 13th floor of my building
i get to ride the elevator with him
while he takes out his trash
and somehow i feel ashamed
the air in the elevator seems to disappear
i have to remind myself how to breathe
i think about how i should not have worn
THAT costume
because somehow my clothes act as
an invitation to my body
and when my friend sees him get in the elevator
she can no longer speak
and when the doors to my floor finally open
i cannot stop myself from crying
the tears feel hot running down my cheeks
and i have to remind myself
that the air is safe to breathe
that my body belongs to me
that i did not invite this

i, too
have poems titled after songs
i can no longer listen to

i think i get it
what it's like to be
on the other side
and all i want to say
to you now is
i'm sorry

Sometimes I flip through picture albums,
to remember the days,
a familiar face.
They are kindling for my wavering fire,
anything to keep the flame alight.

Hot coals singe the ends of memories,
cauterize them before they bleed away.
What I would give,
to breathe that days air again.