I didn’t go to class yesterday.

I thought about it, and I know that I should have gone, should have rallied, but I didn’t.

I lay in bed, instead, thinking about benches by lakes and late nights and what it means when a kid puts a gun to his head and doesn’t put it down.

I cried a lot, for myself, and for my dad, and for a boy I didn’t even know that well but miss anyway.

We just have to keep going, I had told them, but then my bones remade themselves out of sadness and misery and I didn’t know them any more.

They wouldn’t listen to me when I asked to get out of bed.

I’m doing my best, really, I am, but sometimes my brain is static in an empty motel room, where the sun never rises, and the moon never sets, and I can’t do, I can’t feel, I can’t blink, all I can do is just

breathe.

So yesterday I didn’t go to class.

I lay in bed, breathing, and hurting, and I didn’t tell you.

I didn’t tell you, so you wouldn’t worry.

It only occurred to me now that that is far more concerning, isn’t it.

sometimes I dream about falling in love

I dream hand in hand with faceless ghosts
who look like absolution when I catch a glimpse of their faces

I dream about certainty

twin suns turn the sky for eternity

celestial waltzing count 1-2-3, 1-2-3

look
at his hands
dexterity runs in his veins like blood
he cuts ice like an executioner
and he is real

I will not romanticize him
no more than he deserves
I find no beauty
in some parts of him
but that
of course
is natural

so much of him
though
is lovely
and fierce
in equal measures

the color of his eyes
warm and deep
most times
but sometimes
his eyes are strength
I would be afraid
if I didn’t know

that he likes marshmallows
in his hot chocolate
and
he can’t go to animal shelters
without crying
and
and I know what he looks like
in the morning
and at night

sleep-mussed
drooling
ridiculous
as all get out
ring
on his left hand

sometimes I feel like my wings
are just holding me down
my mother calls them a blessing
but I’ve never heard of a blessing like this
what god gave me these wings
and thought “this will be great”
as his hand molded my bones
knowing I would never
I could never
that my wings
would never
let me

fly

There’s something I like about
being put on my knees
the push and pull of control
like a live-wire until suddenly
I can let go
into this safety net of being
here on my knees
for someone who will
take care of me
I like resting my
head in someone’s hands
something fragile
unfolding
in me
through the open swinging door
I like to feel hands
in my hair
that make me feel small
and safe
like nothing
in the world would dare
hurt me
for fear of you

I’m well acquainted
with the eyelashes on his cheeks
the way his mouth curls
around words with no finesse
the strength in his hands
and the furrow between his brow
when he catches me looking

I’m in awe of his smile
shy- like young flowers
in bloom for the first time
I love his caramelized eyes
a singularity of tooth-aching sugar
the first drop of the roller coaster
when his hand touches mine

I suppose I’m in love with him
why else would I be jealous
of the sun-beams on his skin
and the cool sheets on his bed
a closeness I wish I knew