Today my friend looked me in the eyes and told me that
If I give any more of myself away, I’m not going to have any parts left for myself
But I don’t need any more of me.
I have too much of me.
I want to give it all away.
Even when I know that it’ll end up at the bottom of your backpack

or forgotten in a laundry basket

or on the ground outside of your favorite coffee shop

I want to give and give until you can’t empty out your pockets without finding pieces of me.
I want you to go to a baseball game, sing the national anthem,
and put your hand over your heart
Only to realize that there’s a perfect indention
in the shape of my hand
in the middle of your chest, pushing
Beating for you
I want to fill your lungs with my breath
Even though I know I’ll never get it back
Just so I know every sigh is of me
I want to be your oxygen mask
To suffocate knowing that you can breathe a little bit easier
I’ll give my hands to your ribcage,
So maybe I can feel how you hold yourself together.
I’ll give my lips to your body
Leaving secrets down your neck, and your shoulder blades, your hip bones
Stitch together the scars you’ve left open with the most private parts of me
Until you can hold another person in your arms without splitting yourself apart
I want to give it all away.
Until I run out of me to give you, or things to leave behind
And once you’ve collected all of me.
Every hidden inch of my being
When you find me under your fingernails,

in the melody of your favorite song

Hidden in your bedsheets

And all I can do is rework the scraps I have left
Into a frame that might resemble a person who remains
Unapologetically full

*I will still wish I could give you more.

Screams in the pitch black
Turn to butterflies, moths
Lilac wings beating wisps of air
Like wisps of ghosts
Invisible people, touching, reaching
Grabbing, pulling,
gnawing, curling around
Each part of the body at all times
The feeling creeps into the mind
Each and every day

Tossing on the blankets in bed
Latching, anchoring to them
Hands hold so tightly that the
Knuckles are white and
Ache with a deepness,
Like the deepness of
An endless black hole
And falling, nothingness surrounding
Every part of the body
Every part of the mind

Violently flailing, scratching
Clawing, dragging, raking,
None of them win the battle.
It grips us in the times
That our resolve falters
In our own darkness
Our own corner somewhere
between the synapses
firing terror
Our own abyss