I learn to hibernate in layers, I keep
different peoples' secrets tucked into the folds
and pockets of my clothing, or injected directly
into my veins where the softness can soothe
any leftover ache. I dilute
my blood with better safe than sorry, as if saying that
will make up for all the could-have-beens and missed chances
that I make excuses for.
I'm slowly learning
not to feel so much, I press words onto pages now instead
of into people. We can't keep counting up
everything we've lost forever, that isn't
how this works. We were meant for more
than paper promises and paper dreams, we were meant
to lose our breath when the sun hits our eyes and I'm trying
to expand my heart now instead of clinging
to the half-spoken things that still rest under layers of dust on
my nightstand.
I kiss
my palms before turning up empty at your doorstep, I tread
softly over property lines that read do not disturb;
my tongue knows better how
to ask permission than anything else.
It's hard to tell lately what I'm becoming, if it's
simply a replica of an older version or maybe something
new & unrecognizable - other people have pressed
themselves so far into me, I don't think these leftover marks
will grow out; maybe I'm shaped by whatever
crosses my path every day and maybe I'm supposed to live
for all the dreams that were cut short before
they took flight.
Teach me how to pour these colors into new moldings, cast
my promises along the same lines as fate;
it's getting late now and I'm slipping into the fog where everything unspoken haunts me
just the same as when I'm awake.
I'm feeling this sense of responsibility in every inch
of my hemispheres,
warm and heavy in my brain, weighing
me to some reality where duty matters more than
my life. Keep me grounded so that I do not drift along
the breeze with the scattered notion
that our lives amount to anything more than
the soft skins we try to harden;
we are all small and easily bruised in the end, but that never stopped me
from lining my lungs with the world's illnesses, from storing
the battered remains of your dreams behind
my eyelids, it never stopped
us from throwing our bodies around, thinking our soft flesh
can catch bullets and barricade
others against the diseases that try to wrap themselves
around our skeletons - mine is melded with
the remainder of what could have been if I'd been braver, but I'm going
to try harder now, I'm going
to re-write our stories so that you can rest
all your burdens beside mine, and I'll catch
all the shrapnel and debris for you.
Jun 9, 2018
Jun 9, 2018 at 3:07 PM UTC
I learn to hibernate in layers, I keep
different peoples' secrets tucked into the folds
and pockets of my clothing, or injected directly
into my veins where the softness can soothe
any leftover ache. I dilute
my blood with better safe than sorry, as if saying that
will make up for all the could-have-beens and missed chances
that I make excuses for.
I'm slowly learning
not to feel so much, I press words onto pages now instead
of into people. We can't keep counting up
everything we've lost forever, that isn't
how this works. We were meant for more
than paper promises and paper dreams, we were meant
to lose our breath when the sun hits our eyes and I'm trying
to expand my heart now instead of clinging
to the half-spoken things that still rest under layers of dust on
my nightstand.
I kiss
my palms before turning up empty at your doorstep, I tread
softly over property lines that read do not disturb;
my tongue knows better how
to ask permission than anything else.
It's hard to tell lately what I'm becoming, if it's
simply a replica of an older version or maybe something
new & unrecognizable - other people have pressed
themselves so far into me, I don't think these leftover marks
will grow out; maybe I'm shaped by whatever
crosses my path every day and maybe I'm supposed to live
for all the dreams that were cut short before
they took flight.
Teach me how to pour these colors into new moldings, cast
my promises along the same lines as fate;
it's getting late now and I'm slipping into the fog where everything unspoken haunts me
just the same as when I'm awake.
I'm feeling this sense of responsibility in every inch
of my hemispheres,
warm and heavy in my brain, weighing
me to some reality where duty matters more than
my life. Keep me grounded so that I do not drift along
the breeze with the scattered notion
that our lives amount to anything more than
the soft skins we try to harden;
we are all small and easily bruised in the end, but that never stopped me
from lining my lungs with the world's illnesses, from storing
the battered remains of your dreams behind
my eyelids, it never stopped
us from throwing our bodies around, thinking our soft flesh
can catch bullets and barricade
others against the diseases that try to wrap themselves
around our skeletons - mine is melded with
the remainder of what could have been if I'd been braver, but I'm going
to try harder now, I'm going
to re-write our stories so that you can rest
all your burdens beside mine, and I'll catch
all the shrapnel and debris for you.