when you held me last
there was a grey tension

the two of us, held in suspension
the air thick with questions

a grey tension, a fog placing the slightest pressure on my lungs
wondering when the air will clear

wondering if you will be here
when you are gone


those questions- small bricks
my clothes catch on them, they come out of nowhere
seemingly to fall from the buildings we have constructed together

a brick falls here
and there

empty spaces next to the window
missing


they have fallen on me,
luckily missing my head


these questions
were a grey fog
keeping my lungs from their full potential

these questions
were heavy bricks from our house
falling on top of me


and today
i could breathe
when i remembered that the fog is temporary

my bruises disappeared
when i remembered
that our house can always be repaired


so if you will take my hand

let's move to the lands where the air is crisp and clean
and rebuild our house
together

Remember how you used to
                  watch me?

your blue eyes,
                 staring at me while I
   was onstage
playing a song, reading a poem,
         performing a monologue

even when I wasn't onstage
    when we were alone
                in my room
and I would sing  for you
          then kiss your forehead
     and stroke your ears.

Even in class, when I would speak
      my mind
I always knew you were listening
                          intently

sometimes, from across the room,

    you would watch me
            dance.

Thank you for appreciating
        the art and
           those moments I
wanted to share with you.

      I hope you cherish
                   them

as much as I do

I fell apart
   I fell hard to the ground
Felt myself shatter into
some large pieces
and some small ones.
too small to pick up again.
                              ****** fingers-
                                            shards of glass.
Nothing could be done.

I fell apart
               identity split between
thousands    -       millions of
things that make me up.
split between
                         daughter/feminist
                     partner/student
                       privilege/marginalization

split between
                         "it was bad for me
                       worse for you"

how does this erase

                  how much light does this
             give?
                             How much love is
                shared and exchanged

    when we fall apart

                             by choice

when love is black
and our fingers are intertwined

i look outside and see the white snow
and tremble with anger

but i hold my sustenance dear

when the walls have been broken down
and there is confusion in our voices

i look to the blood red sky and pray
pray, yes, I pray
that i will see it blue again
in  this lifetime

My mind is flowing
                       with questions
and no answers
                              I don't want to
                           be trapped in this

I want to lie in the grass in a
                field,    
                              absorbing the sunlight
      and listening to my breath

                    in.      out.
                                       in.       out.



and it seems funny
        
         that some people do.

             some people are lying in
                       warm grass

or maybe on black pavement -  hot from
                 sunlight
                                     August in Missouri
                    
  sounds nice right now

Does it have to get worse before
              it gets better?
                            are we going to
                            drown
   before we grow gills?

             or can we depend on each
                other to lift us out
                    of the deepest ocean
                         we've ever swam in

Who is benefitting?
                                     Who is angry?
Who is Dying?
                                Who is surviving?
Who is scared?
                               Who is speaking?
Why
           are
                  there disparities?      S   P        A    C    E   S

                                               between the
                   lives we want to live
                                           and
                                                       the ways we are
                                                                              shot in the
                                                                                         street

what can be done
         we live in a black box
with no airholes
                         trapped
                        suffocating
                        scared.
who's going to protect us?
who am I going to protect?

                      who  .             .               .               .          .     ?

I have one sister
                one partner
                          one best friend
                                     two parents

and a hell of a lot of pain.

      who will take this on their
        shoulders with me?

                                  and who will
shoot holes
      into this dark box?