39 days and i'm beginning to forget the way you look
sleepy eyed, half dressed and next to me

25 kilometers
from my house to home
to the place where you made me guess
which baby in the photo was you
to the place where i learnt more about you
from what was on your desk
than from anything you had ever said
where i spent hours on your bed
and watched cartoons with you all afternoon
25 kilometers
from home to my house
to the place where you parked your car
shook your head and said
"just stay calm," laughed
and never spoke to me again

sometimes
i worry that depth of emotion
is a finite resource and i've
wasted all of mine on **** like
being so lonely i can't breathe.
but it's sunday,
i don't go to church,
instead, i painted my panic gold,
and wore it on my head
like a heavy crown.
no one bats an eye
when i say that i'm too embarrassed
with this life that i want to end it, but
thank you for being so lovely,
kind, and supportive.
i am not shaking.
this is shame.
this is it for
a prayer.

I haven't even been writing for myself anymore.
Does that still make me a writer,
or an entertainer?

The most painful rejection
always seems to come from someone
who already told you they'd never leave your side.

You say
he made you feel like never before,
but so did alcohol honey.

I found myself humming again to the beat of nothing
and the birds are singing with me,
trying to control the pitch and find the harmony.

Recently, I've been on the outskirts looking through the
broken glass of other people's homes trying to make
sense of the dust that settles at the core but never
around the corners and it comes to my attention
that people do not thrive off of happiness,
but rather pain. At their most vulnerable
they are the most loving; but at their
least, they can be so careless, so
blind, so naïve.

gd

So I know it's late but I need to vent. Sometimes getting held to higher standards kills me. It's like I'm on this pedestal and I can't breathe
I'm my mom's baby boy and my dad's therapist
I'm our friends' secret keeper
a sponge that soaks up all the stuff no one wants to remember
I'm summer and I'm winter in the thick of December
the ember in the fire and I'm burning low like I'm the fuel for peoples' furnace
and maybe I just imagine it
maybe I make it up in my head
but it feels real to me
Half of me wants to be the one people confide in and trust
but half of me wants to disappear
to just leave and join a crabbing ship
somewhere out at sea
so I can prove to myself that people will live on
that with me gone they will end up ok
maybe it sounds like I'm full of myself
or that I put too much weight on me as an anchor
but that's what I feel like
an anchor cast out into the ocean to keep everyone from drifting, safe on their ship while I
sit at the bottom
with a mouth full of sand and cold salt water seeping into my skin
Even anchors
need a break
a reprieve from their duty.
Even anchors need to surface
for a taste of
fresh
air