i remember when the people i know
became the people i knew. it started in high school,
kids i’d grown up with dropping off the face of the planet before anything could hold them here; like they were hoping to die
early enough that we could all pretend they’d never been here at all.
we all wanted to erase ourselves. sometimes
i get jealous of the people who succeeded.

those days, i would've followed you off a cliff
these days, i'd call 911 --
because i know, now,
that love isn't wanting someone
so much that you'd die for them
but wanting what's best for them
and knowing
that isn't always you.

so i will collect ladders until
i can reach
and rearrange them

i'm not afraid of moving cross country -- i'm afraid of the leaving, of untucking myself from this pocket of america i call home; my hate has cultured so well here, snapping threads and poking holes for breathing. the dirt under my nails from all the times i tried to dig myself to somewhere better is as much a part of me as my lungs, my brain, my heart; always be-be-beating to remind me to keep going.

to keep looking for loopholes.

i'm not afraid of moving cross country -- i'm afraid of tucking myself away in a new pocket of this country, far, far away only to realize that i hate it there as well; only to snag my nails on new threads, only to find myself sharpening toothbrushes when i'm nervous, only to dig holes in myself in my sleep. i'm afraid of losing my pulse, that be-beat-beat.

but mostly, i'm afraid of never losing it.

i can only love in hindsight
myself,
my body,
the boys who get the two confused.

i am sick to death
of stepping on everyones toes
just to walk in a straight line.

stiff from lack of sleep
i dream of monogamy
and all the pretty little things
i'm meant to dream of
(but never do)

massage my shoulder blades
and i'll take flight