my mind is a one track
one track
one track thing.
and if i keep talking
keep talking
keep talking to you
i will
i will
i will
probably implode from the sheer
giddiness in my heart.
we’re just friends
just friends
just friends but i will never be able to think of you solely as that.
but thank you
thank you
thank you for being kind, intelligent, sweet, considerate, lovely, beautiful.
i love you
i love you
i love you even if i’ll never be able to tell you.

We laughed, you and I
creating a domino effect,
collateral damage for my heart.
Your smile was a trigger that set off
every rigged-up butterfly in my stomach.
Your shaking shoulders wobbled the earth
into a movement that threatened
my rubber knees.

We played, you and I
fingers dancing over ivory keys,
making melodies like the jangling of broken teeth,
strumming cutting notes that plucked
my heartstrings like fresh, ripe fruit.
I used to sit tucked against your side
as your voice spun webs around my rationality.
**** you.
I still find them clinging sometimes
to the dusty, abandoned corners of
memories that fade too readily.

I remember, me, myself, and I
an embarrassing ambassador
from the nation of Unrequited Love.
I still wonder if it was Love,
or just blind stupidity,
or desperate masochism.
Because the memories now hurt more
than the sight of you, because my legs are still
unstable props for my caved-in heart,
because I haven’t the strength to
compose a new cacophony for my bones.
You and I, you and I, you and I
are just figments of a ghostly past.
Now I’m ready to leave them there.

I make my home in the sky
and it’s beautiful
even when viewed through
blue-tinted lenses of acrophobia
Because it’s not so much
the fear of heights
as it is
the fear of falling from them.
There’s no one
waiting at the bottom for me –
all the more reason
to stay in the clouds.

I make my home in the sea
and it’s breathtaking
literally oxygen-stealing
But I don’t mind
letting my lungs drink their fill
of salt water.
I welcome the fullness.
I welcome the healing.
Watch me dance with the waves.

I make my home in the earth
and it’s a reminder
of all I am
and all I’m not.
I will find my solace in
the ground beneath my feet
and the trees above my head.
I will find my comfort
in canyons and caverns.
I will learn that it is fine
to know what darkness looks like
if only to love the light
so much more.

I make my home in your heart
and it is exactly
where I want
and need to be.
I would write more but
I’m too busy living
and falling
in love
with you.

You think you have to carry the past
like a sack of rocks weighing on your spine.
I’m here to tell you that you don’t.
Let me take them out,
one by one,
let them fall to the ground,
one by one,
and help you let
it
go.
And when you’re ready,
I’ll skip them across lakes and ponds with you
and watch them sink to the bottom,
where they belong.

You think you have to bruise yourself with hatred and sorrow
like a champion prizefighter.
I’m here to tell you that you don’t.
Put down your fists
and let the adrenaline
dissipate in your bloodstream.
Take a deep breath in, and let
it
out.
Learn to love yourself.
There’s no need to fight that any longer.

You think you have to always stand tall
like an impenetrable fortress.
I’m here to tell you that you don’t.
My darling, it is okay to let
me
in.
And it is okay to crumble a little bit.
Let ivy grow up your sides, if only
to remind you that life
is still possible within your hands.
And when you finally fall, I hope you realize
that you never were just a stronghold.
You are the sky,
the unreachable horizon,
and every beautiful thing in between.

I stood under the showerhead today
cleansing myself and wondering
if the same thing could be done to my past.

Head first, I
lather my hair,
massage my regrets into my skull
and I let it sit.
I’ve done this enough times that
I think my brain
has absorbed them all
The sorrows seep in
and decide that one rinsing
        - and neither was two, or three, or four
wasn’t quite enough
        - my arms are sore so I guess I’ll just move on.

Next, my skin
is subjected to vigorous scrubbing.
I can never
remove enough layers of shame
I can never
exfoliate all my guilt
and when I look down, my hands
contain ghost stains of crimson gloves
        - “Out, ****** spot! out, I say!”
I wonder if
anyone else sees me this way
I wonder if
the callused and scarred tissue in my heart
can be so easily removed
like dust, grime, oil, blood.

I slump against the tile wall,
letting the water scald the coldness inside me.
Is it easier to live when you close your eyes
instead of watching the things that nearly killed you
swirl around in infinite eddies
down the drain?
I flinch at the way the water
gurgles down the pipes, wondering why
it’s so easy for them to take it in
and let it go.

The water stops. I shake off
the last of the tenacious water droplets
and I run my hands down my wrists, my ribs, my face
It is good to feel like your body is a clean slate.
I remember what all I scrubbed and scraped and
rubbed off, and I think
*No more. No more. No more.

Let me*
i. run my fingers over your
        life-hardened calluses
ii. trace the ridges and creases
        of each joint on the terrain
iii. climb the peaks of
        all your knuckles
        (and scream when i get to the top)
iv. read your palms like a map,
        a timeline,
        and everything in between
v. follow the bumpy paths
        of your veins to a
        bright and beautiful place.

There are some things that
I’ll never understand
like why I engraved “F A D E”
into my upper left forearm
and trace over the uneven markings
a little too fondly sometimes.
I didn’t mean for it to be funny,
and I didn’t mean for it
to actually mean something
But it did.
Because scars don’t always fade,
and I wanted the ones left on my heart to
and I wanted the ones left on my arms to
remind me —
that life will hurt you
but life will heal you
and when it does —
Let it.
Let it.
Let it.