the hair on your fingers
the hair on your toes
the hair in your mouth from
laughing too hard
everything can be found elsewhere
for some other reason
than the one you first thought
and now i know that here
right here
on this cement
next to the palm tree
dying for the winter
that we are how we set that table
that the dish can be a bowl
the fork can be a ladle
and the kettle can
hold more than just tea
and trinkets of the past that
you can't trust your
dresser draws to keep
because here i am
next to the blocked stairwell
and i know that i am elsewhere
somewhere new
because i chose a different reason
than the one given to me

the thing they don't mention
the thing they don't want
you
or the person with the
checkbook to know is
after it gets better
it always gets
worse.

I despise the way you stand there
Surrounded by an air of arrogance
And a hint of
Self-pity that the
Bottle of perfume you spent far too much
Money on
Can't even hide.
Sometimes I sit back
On my worn-out couch
And simply watch you,
Try to understand what that indecipherable look in your eyes means.
Are you content? Happy? Over-joyed?  
Or have I guessed correctly-
That your stomach aches are
More than just a too-crowded
Track?
The way you look at him
Worries me
Because there's no life
There.
Not even a smidgeon of
Lust.
All I can ever make out
Is utter-emptiness-
Not the open palm kind so many people wish for nowadays, but the
"I haven't felt at home in weeks and I'm afraid that I never will" kind.
I spend
Too much time
Worrying about
You
And forgetting to put
My feelings
Into coherent, concrete thoughts;
Thoughts into actions.
I fear
That
I will not be able to save you.
We're both sinking
Ships
Of different varieties.
You're much
Louder than I am,
Though you don't really mean to be
(I think).  
Helplessness has never been
Your strongest skill,
But I hope that
One day
You master it.
No one can fill that house
Of yours
If you keep your
Door bolted
Shut.

i don't want you to worry about me getting sunburned,
about me getting home safely in this beat-up truck.
that isn't what i meant when i told you to never completely forget about us.
all i wanted was to have a place in your heart, so that when you saw
kids chasing birds or an old lady walking her dog,
you would be reminded of what we were for a split second before
moving on.
i realize that that was selfish of me, and i should have known,
should have ******* known that you would take it to the extreme-
everything about you and about us was just short of insanity.
but you have to understand. please, understand that i only asked to
never lose my place in your story because you will always have a place
in mine.
yesterday i told you to forget about me
and you told me “that’s hard to do when i leave burns on everything i touch after thinking of you.”
i wish i could let you go, but i refuse to.
and i guess that proves that you were the best thing to ever happen to me,
and that i was the worst thing to ever happen
to you.

don't you think that you've held on for long enough?
desperation has never looked good on you,
so stop remembering that day when they should have noticed
and stop blaming them for doing the same now.
people never change in the ways we need them to.

She always has to remind you about the truth-
that evil thing- that even if someone had cared, had called
for help, you'd still be right here, in smoke.
nurture has nothing over the chemistry of the brain;
no doctor, no drug, no institution, could have prevented this.

i admit, the fall was rough, but your skin was already calloused;
all those scraped knees in third grade weren't for nothing.
don't think about the hands you used to have or the way
the moon never shone on you when you needed a reflection-
this is making something better than privilege will ever be.

this is how you learn to not be so slow, so soft and easily burned.
ignorance is always bliss, so look the other way
and pretend that this thing inside is something close to normal.
you weren't born for ease and grace-
the sun is waiting for you, not the other way around.