i noticed everything.
i noticed the way you texted me multiple times
after we first met, asking to hang out
one day earlier than the day of our date apologizing
for your impatience.
i noticed the way you called me beautiful and were quick
to recite a poem when i asked you to,
but you didn't know i only asked you to
to fill in the space where i did not know how
to speak.
seduction is boring when it's easy
or perhaps most boys are easy
but either way, i didn't want you to attack my mouth
as soon as i sat on your couch.
i didn't want you to walk me to the bus stop
and i didn't want to always be holding
your hand just because i was walking beside you.
i noticed everything.
i noticed the way you rambled on and on
about your wealthy parents who are still
happily married, about your younger sister
who you don't get along with, and about the
extraordinary places you had been to
throughout your life.
i noticed the way you didn't listen when i told you
that i write poetry every day
and i noticed the way you didn't ask me once
if you could read it.
i noticed the way you tried to pay for the bill
until i handed you 40$ because you weren't expecting
it to be that expensive, i noticed the way you kept saying
"i wish you could stay longer" every time i mentioned
that i had to go home soon.
i noticed the way you talked about yourself
and i noticed the way you looked at me
like i was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen.
but i'm not and i never will be, and i was flattered
but i'm not yours and i don't want
to talk to you anymore and that probably makes me out
to be a ***** but i don't really care because
i'd rather be laying in the sun reading a book about Beethoven
than laying in your arms noticing the various ways in which
i feel like a bruise on a very ripe banana.

and so we meet again, raven soul,
before i entered the catacomb i was standing at the
edge
peering at the depths beneath it
when sudden ebony clouds floated over me
and attached a hook
into both of my shoulder blades carrying me
beyond the edge i was standing on,
higher than the summit of where
you once sung a song about the idea of being
happy. all of this was done
in silence for the noise resided
on the inside of my skull wanting to escape
but i could not
speak.
then there you were - with your raven hair covering
half of your face,
snakes
dripping down your eyelids, your tears were the colour
of a mermaids tail in lake water and you told me
without telling me
that this would be the last time
that it's over now
that i should be smiling because most people
don't know when
enough is enough and so they keep going
but everything stopped and so
i knew then it was time.
what i did not know was how long
you would keep me there - suspended in the sky
untangling the knots in your tears,
being swallowed by something intangible
that was promising eternal
wholeness.

i spent last night inside of
an emergency room
they took my blood and an X-Ray
of my chest
i let them see all of my insides
which was an intimate thing to do
they wanted to make sure that my insides
weren’t completely shattered.
they told me the wall of my heart
was inflamed but i didn’t know
if they meant the wall i had built around it
or the wall other people had built around it.
the inflammation
was supposed to explain the reasons behind why
i felt like someone had stuck a knife into
the left side of my back, twisted it
and left it there, for the show must go on. it was supposed to explain
why i felt like my heart was going to stop beating
at any second because every beat
was an excruciating struggle. it wasn’t supposed to explain
how much i still miss you or need you,
it wasn’t supposed to explain the way i broke my own heart
when i sent that letter telling you why
you were evicted, why there is no room
left for you now. my heart is too full.
it wasn’t supposed to explain how afraid i have become
when it comes to being loved.
they gave me anti-inflammatory pills
and by 5am, i was safe at home. but i can’t help but wish
for emergency rooms made for shattered hearts and broken minds,
hearts that ache with yearning and confusion,
hearts that forget how to beat but never forget
how to love.
i wish i could go to an emergency room
like that.
i think my heart was trying to warn me
to be more careful with it because
it’s the only rhythm that taught me
how to dance.
keep dancing, it says,
*the show must go on.

it's not that i hate this city and want to divorce myself from everyone i know here.
it's not that i won't miss the little things about being here that make it
too easy to stay,
it's just that i think it's wrong for someone to never leave the place they were born
for more than a week
it's just that i don't want to die anymore and i'm learning how to be
more adventurous
it's about taking risks, and not letting the potential for failure prevent me
from making my dreams come true.
it's about believing in the crazy things that seem impossible and ridiculous
to other people when you tell them about your plans
it's about being simultaneously terrified and relieved that you get
a second chance at life
it's about giving everything up for four months to be immersed
in a completely different world
it's about knowing that it's not always going to be sunshine and rainbows,
but not letting that stop you.
it's about not being able to take another long cold winter here
because being numb has gotten old and too-familiar.
it's about missing someone more than you can ever explain.
it's about having a long-distance friendship but not letting that
keep you apart.
it's about choosing life,
it's about getting out of my comfort zone
it's about being
undefinable
it's about having people say, "well what about after? what are you going to do after this?"
and being okay
with not knowing.

and i think when they see me on that stage
they see something you could have been
had your sickness not swallowed you whole
and i think when they see the light hit my face
they see a beacon that illuminates the cages of
lost souls
and i think when they see me open my mouth
they see butterflies and bats and birds and brand new constellations
and i think when they look into my eyes
they see oceans and flowers and dreams of a child
waiting to be born.

At least once in every day I contemplate giving up.

I contemplate just turning the repetitive “I have to be strong for myself now” anthem that I sing to myself off. Like burning a record. Never to be played again.

And then I remember how bad it was, how bad it can still get again, and I change my mind.

I’ve heard people say it gets easier. I’m just going to have to keep trying to believe that.

I don’t want to be something someone asks you about just because they don’t know any other conversation-starters.
I don’t want to be the last drag of your cigarette only for you to say “Oh well I’ll just light another one.”
I don’t want to be a suicide note you read over and over again trying to understand why you never understood me.
I don’t want to be the symbol behind your sorrow, I don’t want to be the last lilac sitting in a vase on your kitchen table watching you try to keep it alive.
I don’t want to be that song you listen to over and over trying to recreate something that you never even experienced to begin with.
I don’t want to be that picture you keep above your bed, I don’t want to be the half-eaten meal you fed to the dogs instead.
I don’t want to be compared to that thing that is killing you that I can’t control. But I am. I am. I am.
I’m sorry.