He reached into the sandbox
And found all the favorite toys
I thought I lost long ago
Picked up a red bucket
And told me we could rebuild the sandcastle
That some kid stomped all over
He asked if I wanted to be the princess
And I told him 'I want to be the Red Ranger'
I expected him to say something stupid,
Like 'Girls can't be the Red Ranger'
But instead he replied, 'Cool, I'll be Yellow'

I made a room out of sadness
filled it with picture frames
of arguments I refused to let go
A tear stained sofa
that was meant to welcome guests
Is now where my past
has overstayed its welcome

Hanging on the walls
is a picture I drew
of a memory called happy
And on the coffee table
sits an old phonebook
of people who promised
to stay in touch

This was only supposed to be
a guestroom where I allowed
my chaos to visit from time to time
But somehow the boxes of anxiety
have piled up
and the monsters
have found their way
under this bed too

I was desperate for peace
I allowed the chaos
To drown me into silence

I sold my soul to poetry
And never looked back
But now every relationship
Is a writing prompt
Every trauma, a metaphor

Anxiety means
I stood there
outside your
door for an hour
Coaxing
whatever brave
I had left
to come out.
It didn't
and I turned back
towards home

I place my hands above yours
Careful not to crush you
With the weight of my being
I let you make the choice
To intertwine our stories
So that if you pull apart
I will have nothing to let go of

I hope you think of us on Malibu nights
A couple of sad drunk girls
under pink fairy lights
The sound of our laughter
drowning away
the tears that we've shed
I hope you felt all the love we've left unsaid