i
                    am
h o n e y
dripped
             across
                       a
                       can
                            v
                               a   s
in the shape of a
banjo, a skyscraper,
the palm of someone
else's                   hand.
when the sun   rises i
am no   longer afraid
to      u n c u r l      my
technicolor limbsand
breathe
    
             breathe

      breathe
like i never did when
i was with you. the
ache i used to carry
in my chest
in my         arms
in my                 veins
has finally subsided,
finally warmed,
finally sealed itself up
to allow for new fingers
to run themselves over it.

i would have given
you every ounce in
my body if you had
wanted it, if you
would have taken
care of it. i only
wanted my name
to be safe in your
mouth, but you
tangled it with hers
and toward the end
it all started to come
out in a garbled
mess that i (and you)
had trouble making
sense of. i'm so glad
you no longer are
allowed to look at
me like i taught the
sun how to shine,
that my skinny arms
don't belong to you,
that i am not- and
never will be again-
in love with you.