every poem i was afraid
to write ended with
you.

during summer, we avoided the ocean
because it reminded us how
small we really are, and instead of singing
lullabies to drift away in waves of sleep,
we sang all night long to stay awake
for fear that if we let ourselves go, we'd have nothing
left to rise for by morning

(i never closed my eyes, but i had one
hell of a dream)

i heard once on the playground that the human heart
is about the size of it's owner's fist;
that day i spent my whole afternoon
gathering handfuls of earth within the
palms of my hands just to see
how much i could hold, as if that could show me
how much i was capable of loving, but dirt
slipped through my fingers when i loosened my
grip, and i was scared that people were the same
(even at eight, i knew that sometimes the only reason
people stayed was because you held them too tight,
and if midnight provided a last-minute flight
they wouldn't hesitate to catch it because holding on
was harder than running away).
later on, i tried to catch people like fish,
reeling them in and then leaving them on a hook
because when i held them at a distance they were
pretty to look at and i could feel their heat, but when i
clutched them close to my chest, underneath my line of
sight, it was much easier for them to
break and hide.  that all changed when i met
you though; i disabled all my traps and
reached out to you with bare fingers, telling myself
if i could hide you between my hands then
maybe you wouldn't mind hiding in my heart.
i started out timid, grasping handfuls of your
shirt and the way your laugh sounded when it was
me that caused it, and sometimes at night
when i pretended you were there with me, i would
reach out for you, but daylight was different
and i've always had small hands

(i realized it was never about taking your heart when you
reached for my hand and held it like it was your favourite secret
you couldn't keep any longer; it was about letting you have mine)

i can't break fear
when it's being
built into
me

nothing is more violent than
love, but i would reconstruct
mountains just to have another
chance to break them down
again with you

it was so dark that i couldn't see
his hand slip into mine, and i was numb enough
by the end of the night that my head didn't realize
what it meant when he reached under my skirt;
for the first time in a long time i felt something,
even if it was only skin against bone
(i had already known i was
a skeleton of what i used to be)  

later, another boy came along
and kissed my bruises away
(ones i didn't even know i had until
they were gone, but i felt them like
phantom limbs when he had to leave)
and every time his fingers touched
mine i felt it deep in my chest, like a
kick-drum pounding over and over again
                (i thought maybe love like that could never end,

but really, he was just another dream waiting
to become a nightmare)

i just want to sit and be
still with you, but
my heart never slows
when you're around and
i always end up searching
dead ends for what words
to use next

(my fingers still shake at the
mention of your name)