how do i explain
to the little girl
with long white-blonde hair
and blue eyes filled wonder,
that i want to hurt her.
that i’ve thought about it
more than once.
that i’ve cried over her
like a funeral
i didn’t attend.

she used to sing
in the grocery store,
twirl down hallways,
laugh so hard
she snorted.
she didn’t care
who was watching.

how do i explain
that now i flinch
when people look at me.
that i pick at my skin
just to feel
something.
that i miss her
like she died
and somehow
i’m the one who killed her.

i can’t explain.
so i whisper
i’m sorry
to the mirror.
and try,
just for tonight,
not to hurt
what’s left of her.

i miss it.
the sting.
the ache.
the tiny rush of
doing something wrong
on purpose.
like i was in control.
like the hurt
was mine.

i know it’s ****** up.
but sometimes
i still want it.
not for attention.
not for drama.
just to feel
something
i understand.

mom says
i’m the best person she knows.
i smile.
i’m good at pretending.

she says i’m kind,
but i know when it’s a performance.
she says i’m gifted,
but it feels like a trick
i’m barely pulling off.

my sax squeaks,
my test scores blur,
my muscles ache in the water.
and still she calls it talent.

i nod along,
quiet and guilty.

if i’m so good,
why do i always
feel like a lie?

baby,
when i say i love you
i’m half-asleep
and whole in it.

you’re the reason
i don’t need
a wind-down.

i close my eyes
and fall
into you.

the sky is soft tonight
and so am i,
thinking of you
the way i always do,
reminding myself
of my overflowing love.

baby,
you make everything
feel like music again.
like late summer light
on tired skin,
like laughter in the car
with nowhere to go.

i’ve written you
a hundred ways,
but still
this feels like
the first time.