my lower abdomen hurts from
numbing the knowledge that
i have become numb.
phantom pain
will still tell you truths,
self-medication,
is still medication.

blindingly golden hour
the overripe fruit bruises
against my bare thighs,
beading blood from
points of distraction,
they are my fumbled attempts
at asking for help.

the city grows stale,
no longer exciting to
pass unnoticed,
i resort to
easy means of
feeling,
or not.

what do i have to
say for myself
?
laughter is romance,
and it's been a while
since i let loose.
i can't hate ugly laughing
when it feels
so ******* good,
to pour out something sweet.

i partake in small pleasures
none taller than a generous glass of something
shimmering and effervescent;
drunken couples stumbling into each other on the street,
off the stoop of the bar;
a text from someone about a poem,
or their quiet evening.

the words "low-maintenance" echo in my cavernous skull,
insulting me,
pace quickening.
indignantly,
i will make demands,
lay plans against my nature.
simple girl!
my lucidity you insist on being a weakness,
certainly feeble desires,
clearly having never seen me gnaw off a limb
for a moment of silence.

we say our morning goodbyes
tension in that
see you after work
i'll be on a flight home
and you know it,
but maybe before you know it.

our words were not soft,
the love was not soft
as it has been, as i have
grown to love

do we continue?
you stopped my running
but the threat still looms.

i wrote one poem about you
and the rest has been free-flowing prose
words like
future, and
comfort
drip from my lips like tree sap

i bloom in the spring
branches untangling
those ugly mangled masses
that we pruned together

it is not pretty growth
pushing through the dirt and sometimes
wilting in the rain and sun
the same things that make us strong

i learn the value of cultivation
the importance of hacking away at
that which promises to choke us
the aches and pains of taking root

the only way we speak truths is through fridge poems,
the height of our vulnerability in
pre-written words,
mass produced magnets
holding together what's left of
you and me.