Good ******* my wavering hands
and bless this tightrope walk.

I hope you realize
that i only get mean when
you don't love me back

After your mother died, you told me
just how aware you are of how little time we have to love one another.
It's probably selfish of me, then
to sit here, shifting in my chair
waiting for you to love me.
But you say nothing.
I'm to assume based on what you don't say.
The part of me that grew into us
she isn't feeling so strong lately.
She won't stop staring at my flaws
won't stop looking for a place to empty out hot handfuls of blame.
My thoughts are taking up too much of the bed again,
a wild skirmish of "why not" and "how come".
you stopped seeing the best in me when we got comfortable
i let you see me so close up that i went out of focus.

For you
I would love to be a mooring post,
the steady mast you hold fast to
when you feel the world is trying to scrape you off its back
but lately,
I am the wayward sea.
I can't help but to buck like a wild thing whose manners have come  undone
and whose side is perforated with thorns.
I am sorry for the way I'm behaving,
but the thorns, they hurt,
and you
you put them there.
I'm sorry I've drenched your clothes,
ruined your finery,
and upset your stomach
but when you took on a girl who runs deep as I do
the waters can't always sit still

I've never understood
why you didn't understand
that how you met me may just be how I'm meant to be
alone.

I wish I'd payed closer attention to my palms
because
that way
I could have traced the moments leading up
to when you embedded yourself into my lifeline
an errant lineament lying there
reaching towards my index finger
Wish I'd documented,
every twist of my hands,
to see where I wore them out gesticulating
telling stories about you.
Seen the moment my heart line feathered out and extended downward
like a giving tree.
Witnessed my head line curl around itself
like an overjoyed snake making a knot of itself.
I didn't pay attention,
so I don't really know
the exact moment our
heads
hearts
lives intertwined
But they say that in a dream,
you never know the beginning anyway