I feel like handknotted lace
and freeze dried flowers
and burned cedar
rising into the air
praying to be taken
I am still trying to drink every last drop
still trying to sweat it all out
still trying to sleep it off
still
still
still
I want a “finally"
I want a finish line
I want arms outstretched
and reaching
like vines
like crawling ivy
to grow on this house with the ancient white paint chipped by hate
I am so thirsty
I am still so thirsty

It is 1:15 am.
I am sitting here and my *** is numb.
It is the only part of me, thankfully, that has lost feeling.
Everything else is loud, ringing, stinging, and singing.
My pants are unbuttoned.
I believe in small liberations.
In approximately, five minutes I won't be wearing pants.
I believe in big freedom.
My frontal lobe feels like warm tapioca pudding.
I would not be surprised if it oozed out my nose.
I am one who takes things as them come,
even brain pudding leaking from my nasal cavities.
I am also one who shouts a lot, cries a lot, and smiles wildly
and at every possible opportunity.
Settling is not on my schedule
and at this point, neither is sleep.

I will collapse into bed before my knees give out before me.
I will darken my bedside light like the moon when she eclipses the sun.
Blocking out his brightness.
Blackening his reach.
I am too much like the moon.
And I am trembling.

My love, I wonder if you liked looking at dark houses from the sidewalk in the middle of the night like I do, if you delighted in whispering lullabies to the people sleeping silently inside.
I wonder if you had ever felt your heart explode before that moment, overwhelmed with love or joy or hope.
I wonder if you smelled the musk of the dusk dewed grass before you took your last and gasping breath.
I hope you know your momma loved you.
I hope you know your daddy loved you.
I hope you know your brother loved you.
I hope you see all of the people crying,
all of the people who still only see skin as skin,
all of the people with voices like arrows.
I hope you are truly now tasting the rainbow, swimming in the rainbow, swallowing the rainbow whole.
I hope you lay up in the sky,
in rest,
in peace.

I am imploding.
The paint drips off the walls.
Every part of me folds onto itself.
The ground is a rumble strip.
I am fractaling inward.
The skin of the earth crystallizes.
I am eternities splayed forcefully.
The rain continues to fall up.

We were ledge-sitters.

We understood why birds perch themselves on penthouse patio rails

And why airplanes sigh with breaths of relief when they are defying gravity.

We would hold the crooked hems of our dresses while we climbed metal stairs like mountains.

The urge for heightened perception of depths, distances, and the disarranged built in us like skyscrapers we hung ourselves over.

I decided to brew myself tonight.
Let the essence of my soul steep into the scalding water of the ceramic tub.
2. Unpacked boxes remind me of unfulfilled promises.
3. I leave my underwear on the floor for days at a time because my knees have been locked since the last time I spoke to you and I have never been able to bend and touch my toes.
4. My skin still smells like bleach and the pine wood that splintered into my hand.
5. She said that hurricanes are beautiful. I asked if she understood destruction.
6. The amount of dusty and empty flower vases I have directly correlates to the amount of missed opportunities have been blooming and hand delivered to my door step.
7. I am still trying to unknot you.