You order two books off of Barnes and Noble
And perpetually wait by the porch
Every day to glimpse the mail carrier’s hands.
Anxiety settles upon your shoulders
Like the world on Atlas’s but because you believe
Carrying anxiety is not as intense
As carrying the world you shrug it off
But secretly, behind closed doors, your heart is biting its nails
Faster than it can pump blood
Because the world must not know what you are waiting for
Especially your parents for if they caught wind of it
You believe in your very core that they will douse them in gasoline
And ask you “at what temperature do books burn”
Before dropping a lit match onto the only security you have ever known.

Soon it became a habit, a habit I could not kick, like being addicted to cigarettes

In the first grade I proclaimed loyalty to the art of writing.
In the Fifth Grade I inked my hands permanently with poetry.

Drug me
with your strongest dose of addictions,
between the spaces of our future sins
I embrace
every adventure behind closed doors
as long as mine is embedded in yours
I feel safe
and anxious at the same time
not physically mine
However
for that moment we unite
intertwined, tight
Unbreakable
strength within the space
adrenaline you can’t replace
This feeling
even in absence of time
rough yet smooth, each line
Overlaps my own
and I search to caress the inside
skimming sweat from both sides
It's okay,
slowly caressing my protection
merely fit to perfection
I’m addicted
to the movement, and touch
overwhelming rush
Of serenity, and flutter
nowhere else I’d rather be
you drugged me