You didn’t know what you were doing
and I think that was the worst part,
the fact that you just threw her heart
right away without even taking
the time
to break it first.

That’s it I guess–just that
you didn’t know and that
you didn’t break her heart
not because you loved her too much,
but because you didn’t want to feel the guilt
so instead you flattened out her breath and built
an airplane out of her lungs to fly
her heart to her
so she could break it herself,
alone in the dark
with a box full of tissues
a text to her mom
7 unanswered calls
and a silver hammer
for good measure.

You didn’t know,
you didn’t know what you’d done.
You thought maybe you both had won
because you both got sent your hearts
still intact
but you were wrong.
It doesn’t work like that.

Her lungs
were creased by your hands,
remember?
made sharp by your distinct ability
to see her vital oxygenation
as an art project,
just some ancient origami solution
to make pain look pretty.

Sharp lungs
biting breaths–
they pierced the heart
that sat on them;
it shattered the moment she lifted it
from their folded wings,
the ones that could still
feel your touch
on their edges.

You sent her her heart in the mail.
You didn’t break it you
didn’t even
break it.
Do you think that’s love?

Sometimes your sister turns 21
and you don’t post on her Facebook wall on her birthday
mostly because you’re a piece of garbage
but also because there simply aren’t enough words
in the english language to accurately describe to her
how great she is,
and even more so
because even if there were enough words,
you’re not entirely sure what
you’d want to say anyway
because you’re kind of shocked
and you don’t really know what to do
honestly
because oh shoot
you can remember exactly how she looked
before she got braces
and oh man
you see her smile
and find yourself looking through years
and years
of everything she’s been through
and finding the same exact smile as before
just with different teeth
and oh wow
you look at her hands
and see them as they were
when they held a book in front of your face
and taught you how to read
and oh gosh
you see her cry and get straight up confused
as to why such an
exceptional
being
should have to ever be sad
and uGH
you sometimes get a smell that reminds you
of a very specific time with her
and it makes you weirdly emotional
and oh no
where the heck did the time go and
aaaahhh
you just know that no one is going to make
a better adult
then her
and ohmanohmanohman you think about your life
and just realize
that you’d be absolutely nowhere without her
because you’re a tiny lil bean sprout
and she’s the whoooole big sun just
showin you the hEckiN wAY to evERytHiNg and
you think about how much of who you are has
come to be defined by
the things she’s taught you
and you look at her
and then at everyone else in the world
and you realize it’s time.
It's time for her to help them like she’s helped you.
And you realize she’s ready.
You realize she’s made it.
She’s there.

When this kind of thing happens,
here’s what you do kiddo alright listen up:
you write a stupid message for her
and you post it on her frikking Facebook wall okay
just do it okay
it doesn’t matter if it’s four days late,
it doesn’t matter if it’s 4 in the morning
it doesn’t matter if you still haven’t
placed the words just right do you hear me
your sister is 21 years old
and these are the best words you have
and she’s very much worth it so just post it okay
just do it.

One second I was holding your hand and the next I was frightened to let it go
because there we were

horizontal
and quiet

casually taking the bandaids off our hearts one by one in the dark

and with our foreheads touching my eyes and yours were like lighthouses across a bay
just forgetting about their responsibility to guide the boats for a while,
and simply just blinking back at each other
on a plane of existence only inhabited
by them

and while we lay there like that you whispered some words
and I whispered them back
thinking that maybe all the stories I’d been told when I was younger
hadn’t been such b.s. after all.

I think I’ve earned the right to talk freely about wanting to die.
It’s been so many times I thought I’d got the feeling down
I thought I knew what it was like.
It was always just the same,

like a five thousand pound weight on my chest
like my heart torn in half
like my mind numb and
my stomach hallow and
my brain bleeding.
It’s never felt sweet before,

never felt like staring at the sun for too long,
never felt like some chaotic spasm in my chest,
like my bandaid-coated heart couldn’t manage this much beauty
this much love
this much light
so it just decided that to quit existing would probably just be easier

because it never knew it could be allowed to feel this good
or to beat so strongly and truly
for someone else.

It’s never felt like this.

if i woke up one day
and we were made of water
you and me
and everyone and
everything,
if we were all just liquid that held its form
if we died in a splash and were born in a storm,
held in place by a force (that didn’t conform
to any scientific or common-sense norm)
that held the water
in a human shape
and never ever spilled;

if liquid and gas were all that existed
if instead of crying we just kind of misted
from liquid eyes down liquid cheeks,
drove in liquid cars down liquid streets,
sat at liquid tables with liquid seats
slept in liquid beds
with liquid sheets
walked through liquid forests with liquid trees
and liquid leaves that fell
on liquid grass;

if it were liquid knees we had to bend
watery letters to stamp and send
fluid hearts to break and mend
a solution of time to save and spend
and not for out lives
could we comprehend
the meaning of words like “shatter”
and “solidify”;

if i woke up in a world like that
i’d run the 12.3 miles
to your flat
and open the door
like a hurricane
and throw my liquid arms around you
like a safety blanket or a scarf or
like some kind of human sweater
or something

i don’t know
i just really want to feel
our internal oceans
move together.

you’re not close enough
i’m tired of solid touch
i want to be everywhere
i want to encompass you
like a river i want our skin
to meld and mix
like food dye
to create a new color
just for you and me.
i want to be
forever changed
in every place
you touch.

it’s a curious thing
because i’m not much older than you
but your eyes are closed
and your lashes are such
that they look to be drawn
by some artist’s brush
and all i can think
is how awfully much
i’d like to read you to sleep

and all i can see
is how each time we touch
the pain gets a little less deep

you feel like a child
you feel like you’re mine
i feel like i’m yours
so pass me the twine
and i’ll tie your left hand pinky to mine
so no one can make me leave