being the other

I'm used to this
I find comfort in never really being known by the people I care for

I am the escape
the breath of fresh air
the break

I am not the permanent
not the commitment
not the priority

I come without obligation
I come without responsibility
I come tied with a bow

but when I start feeling
(and I always do)
that's where it ends

suddenly I am guilt
I am a reminder of all that you use me to escape from
I am a weeping witch
suddenly you can't escape me

suddenly you need me to be distance
I need to be a memory
I need to be tucked away

I lose my shimmer and I rot before your eyes
I spoil in seconds
rapidly crumbling into sewage

I am the dirt on your shoe
I am the itch on the unreachable part of your back
I'm the buzzing gnat you swat away

I was never whole
you never caught a glimpse of me

I was my use
I was how I made you feel
I was everything you ran away from

I'm used to this

being the other

every day the same
getting so accustomed to the mundane
engaged to the repetition

starting each day optimistic
and slowly remembering the sandpaper numbness
everything is the ******* same

reoccurrence- this deja vu
i feel like this has happened before
the past feeling like a foggy memory
i cant remember

ending the day exhausted
run out of steam
cant even pick up my head
my structure cracking from the weight
feels like my body might just give out
fold into a million pieces
and land on the ground
a perfect pile of skin and bone

not punishing myself for having emotions but forcing myself not to

so sensitive- a sticky gooey bleeding heart

like a licked melted lollipop,
my heart weighs in my chest

my source of conscience

and also guilt

I cant decide if I can go on being so open

I don't want to lose my compassion but I don't want to die keeping it

-------------------------------------------------------------­-----------------------------

can I keep one thing to myself

is it so hard to be happy with just knowing myself

I find joy in giving and sharing but not in receiving and keeping
-that is going to hurt me one day

it seems as though I cannot find any answers within myself

is that so hard to do

answer one question about myself

even the important one

who am I

the street lamp shines on the pavement in my mind

and I watch through my window

wishing I could share the view with someone else

-----------------------------------------------------------­-------------------------------

who could ever love someone who is so unsure of herself

and so sensitive

I'm so sensitive

I fear real emotional commitment

why cant I just untie the knot in my chest

when did I tie it in the first place

I plead it to loosen

bleeding fingers prying back the ribbon

but it is too tight

and it has been there so long that the fabric folds in on itself at each curve

almost as if its a ball of ice

but for it to be ice it would have to be cold

and my chest roasts under a fire of emotion that is constantly stoked

so the ice would surely melt

I don't want an empty cavern with cobwebs and stalagmites frozen, reaching up for a heart that disappeared long ago

but I cannot handler the fire in my stomach burning the lining of my chest and climbing up my throat
using the cartilage rings in my esophagus as a ladder to my head

time


I grasp at it unconsciously

gasping

exasperated

out of breath

hands holding my head backwards

I jut my chin out, trying to pry my head out of grasp

my arms extend outwards, my fingers menacingly contorted into claws

every time that it seems as though I have reached it

it slips through my fingers

golden sand grains sliding away

slipping down the well and into the corner of my mind

where it can sit and taunt me

just out of reach


I sob

reaching inward

trying to extract it

I just need to get ahold of it


time

Fresh parchment and jet-black ink

A desk with an oil lamp

A mirror in a wooden frame

A screeching screen door

A narrow stairway

A squeaky floorboard
on a dank wooden floor

Soot covered cheek

Grey hair pulled into a bun

A homemade frock

A dense black pan

A candle at the dinner table

A heavy white quilt
and beneath soft cotton sheets

A window and outside it a white blossom tree

And within the house

there's me

instantgratificationandimpatiencegohandinhand
everythingavailable­
nothingeveroutofreach
constantconnection
howcouldyoublamemefortu­rningoutthisway
howcomeiblameme

When I was young there was a gap between my front teeth so big that I could fit a straw through it
I squeezed my tiny pink tongue through the hole constantly
Most likely pushing them further apart
Not helped by falling face first on my icy driveway
My grandma had given me a cookie from the freezer
and I winced before I bit in and realized that it was soft
My teeth throb when I eat ice cream
and I've had two major cavities
I learned to dislike the tiny black slit in my mouth
They're in braces now
Buckling under the pull of the wire, my gap closed
Yet braces still make my teeth sore