when i was young, i loved being alone.
i loved it so much, i used to lie to keep the girls and ghosts
out of my mother's head, like i could erase the
scribble marks on the piece of paper because i never thought
they could be permanent like the bloodline in our
family and the tattoos on your wallpaper skin.
i guess you could say my torso is a furnace, kicking on and off
when the time is right,
like the light of the strongest star circling the earth -
i always wanted to see the shadow against my feet,
we were connected by the needle but the heat just wasn't
enough to keep you occupied by the
lengths my arms could make.
you told me once that i had the body of the circus,
there was always something dangerous but sweet and you
couldn't stand to see one overpower another like
the smell that held onto your teeth
and how my temper could never flare when we were in trouble.
when i was young, i loved being alone
with the dirt underneath my toes as if i could walk cross country,
but really it was just my backyard, i just liked to pretend
that i had somewhere to go with a bookbag filled
with some gummies and my mother's favorite necklace.
i will never forget the quiz my mom had for me once i
got to phoenix and back before the sun hid behind the house:
did you see the alleys filled with bottles of cheap beer and
trash, could you see all the colors of the wind?
well, yeah of course.
even now, i love being alone
since the pollutions can sometimes get to be
too heavy, leaving me with little direction and a
map that read to follow the roles that have long been engraved
in the stones that my garden held so loosely,
so i won't accept an apology when you never meant for it to be
this way, i want you to read to me
how sorry you could be if you would have known
the acceptance of being alone.