brief moments spent
whispering and tiptoeing
because i've been told
that my voice is too loud
and my weight is too much
for the earth to handle.
brief moments that sum up to
time taken from this:
stomping my feet
               to remind my body of its existence
raising my voice
               because fear withers my vocal cords otherwise
digging my hands
               into the gracefulness of the sky and ocean and
               everything in between.

I want to throw off
the cloak of “trying to impress you.”
it’s gotten so
heavy
soaked with my insecurities
and self-loathing,
always snagging
on thorns and skeletons and the
remnants of broken hearts.
I want to shatter
the bottle that held my tears
shed over not being good enough.
Pour my philophobia
into a sea that never dries up.
It’s all salt water anyways.
I want to compose
a cacophony of all the voices that sung
“you’re fake” -- “ugly” -- “worthless” --“unloved” --
into my ears
and then burn the sheet music.
Destruction…
never felt so good.

You trail after me
like the tide
is pulled
and pushed by the moon.
Never mind the
broken and hollowed
bones that litter the
paths I walk.
You just
step around them.
And sometimes you will pick some up
and remind my shattered body
that it deserves to be whole.
I am no moon.
I am no light.
But this is me
hoping you won’t drown
and praying you won’t fall
when night darkens the path.
I’ll do my best
to be your moonlight.

I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry
The words that
fall from my lips
only seem to know
how to shatter.

I hope you won’t mind being an architect.
I learned a long time ago that it
will take more than just a little
Krazy glue to put my pieces
back together.

I hope you won’t mind being a pilot.
I was never very
fond of heights
but I have a talent for
falling too fast and too hard.

I hope you won’t mind being an astronomer.
It will take someone
with a lot of wonder
to trace the constellations
scattered across my body.
Sorry in advance –
I connected some of the dots already.

I hope you won’t mind being a meteorologist.
One who isn’t
afraid to don a raincoat and boots
and stand in the storm to say,
“Expect some passing showers
but watch for the sun and
wait for the clouds to clear.”

I hope you won’t mind being you.
As long as you won’t mind me being me.

I loved you in a beautiful place
the kind that is clothed with darkness and fear
with boiling hate and spewing bitterness
as I huddle over you
wrap my arms around you
and shield you from burn scars that already
litter your body
I loved you in a beautiful place
the kind where you limp to me in defeat
your head pounding your heart thumping
and I lay my head against your chest,
wondering if the palpitations are yours or mine
I loved you in a beautiful place
the kind where you tell me, “be okay. please.”
while your wounds are still fresh and your bruises still sore
don’t you know that I hurt because you hurt?
I loved you in a beautiful place
the kind where we cling to each other
spanning 216.7 miles in between
I’m sorry my arms aren’t long enough to reach you from here
I loved you in a beautiful place
in the aftermath of your father’s anger
and your mother’s diagnosis
and the melodies they stole from you
I loved you in a beautiful place
I loved you in a painful place
I loved you in a heartbreaking place
and I’m not afraid to call it home.

I have been listening to a voice
She is not mine.

She told me things like
“I can’t hear anything so neither can you.”
things like
“This is it. Your words have shriveled up
and ran away
it is the bitter taste of ink left on
your tongue.”
things like
“You lost your voice.
You lost yourself, too.”

I have been listening to a voice
She is not mine.

She painted the world in
the brightest shades of gray
and siphoned all the strength I had
to at least pick up the paintbrush
She convinced me that my
arms were too short for murals
that all I could do was
lie on my back and stare
up
up
up
at things beyond my grasp.

I have been listening to a voice
She is not mine.

She planted herself right in front of me
I only pushed her away
so I could see the stars.
No one told me
there was more than one way
to look up at the night sky.
I should’ve just stepped around her.