i spent so long being told i had only poison in my heart
that i did not let you see the love i had for you

i had been convinced my love was a black ichor
corrupting and unclean

what you saw was me shut away and leave
when all i wanted to do was run to you and feel safe again

a stain is not an active incident
it is what we left behind
after we clean the mess

honey used to drip from your skin onto mine
a sweet thread connecting even sweeter moments
a natural connection

our warm skin run cold
a porcelain shell
moment after moment
the chaos in your brain
spilling honey

the mess is clean
now this shell is stained
i wait patiently
for us to connect

17 days, 28 days, 30 days
the gaps widen
the wall is built higher and higher
and the final sticky strand
connecting me to you
is stretched so thin

twenty moments of desire in four hundred days

I can’t see us anymore

the sun is in your eyes
the moon in mine
i have dreams in mind
but you have plans

i feel more like your celestial counterpart
the moon to your sun
always revolving, constant with each other
always in sight
but never close
never together

the sun is in your eyes
the moon in mine
i'm feeling left behind
so soon, it comes

i always saw your name
on street signs and in books
a reminder of a friendly face

it’s gone from a sign of who you are
to an echo of who you were

it’s not your name anymore
it’s my memory

snowflakes dotted the rooftop
with a concrete backdrop
in summer weather

i made my corner,
overlooking bubbles of joy
drunken memories being recorded
a live concert of experience

each visitor gave their introduction
told me what year they were from
without telling me outright

born 1998, from the year 2013
born 1995, from 2008

their core memories on display
when their eyes light up
to illuminate their year
when i ask about their favorite thing

everyone is a collection of moments frozen in time
opening it's eyes for the first time
and looking into the future happening in front of them

i want to be the artist
to be heard, understood
to help heal

but i am the accessory instead

the tool to self-harm
the body to witness yours
the rib to your cage

i have no childhood photos
but that doesn’t make you sad
it is easier to erase someone without a past

i am but a part of you, but you make up all of me.

i am stuck in the in-between.

it was a white room
featureless but for a door
through which you wandered

you were tiny, with wispy dark hair
reaching almost to your feet
blowing past your ears in a mane as you walked

I first noticed your night gown
almost laughable in its lack of modernity

I looked into your eyes with green and yellow flecks
the curiosity on your face as you read mine.

I never met this version of you.

before whatever happened to make you lose sense past self
whoever hurt you
whatever they did

my mother, the child
before it all