Feb 2016
I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how certain things make me think of you
And no one else, and without reason,
I guess just some letters of the alphabet belong to your memory
And then you fill up the smoky corners of my mind and I start wondering
How can I get on a plane and get up to you
I want you and me and the long-haired boy who lived across the hall from us
To walk somewhere dark and look at the city lights
To talk about love and punk music and poetry and missing people who become part of you
You both know a lot about those things and I know so little
I think I need to be close to your flesh to soak up your greatness.
I’ve been thinking so much lately that it worries me
That you’re busy now with the end of an era, and other such things
And you’ll eventually stop thinking about me
I imagine somehow that I’ll feel it; that I’ll turn my head to the wind dramatically
And know deep in my bones that I fell out of your mind for the last time.
I haven’t been able to breathe for two months.
No one can touch me.
I know you know what it feels like.
Every time I’m in a crowd I start to panic
Every time I’m asleep my dreams start to strangle me
I wake up in tears and sometimes people hold me
But mostly I wonder if I am a burden. I wonder if I can be heard.
I cannot write poetry about my anxiety
Because I am afraid of the word
But I know you know what it feels like.
At any rate, I meant to tell you
In some way or another, eventually or not at all
That I read your poetry all the time.
That I tell pretty boys that I know, personally, the greatest poet and artist of all time and we shared a dorm room in a pretty city with pretty lights and she used to hand me my bottle of pain pills early in the morning.
I don’t mean to be strange
And I’m surrounded by so much love here I never seem to have a moment free
And there are so many people, I’m never alone
Every day there are concerts! and kissing! and bookstores! are you proud?
And I’m sure you haven’t got a spare minute to miss me
But if I ever cross your mind, if David Bowie and black jeans remind you of something
Let me know and I’ll crawl up to your skyline
And I’ll listen to your poetry and collect your tears
Because life always has a way of grinding to a stop for me
And when it does,
I always think
of you.
And no one else, and without reason,
I guess just some letters of the alphabet belong to your memory
And then you fill up the smoky corners of my mind and I start wondering
How can I get on a plane and get up to you
I want you and me and the long-haired boy who lived across the hall from us
To walk somewhere dark and look at the city lights
To talk about love and punk music and poetry and missing people who become part of you
You both know a lot about those things and I know so little
I think I need to be close to your flesh to soak up your greatness.
I’ve been thinking so much lately that it worries me
That you’re busy now with the end of an era, and other such things
And you’ll eventually stop thinking about me
I imagine somehow that I’ll feel it; that I’ll turn my head to the wind dramatically
And know deep in my bones that I fell out of your mind for the last time.
I haven’t been able to breathe for two months.
No one can touch me.
I know you know what it feels like.
Every time I’m in a crowd I start to panic
Every time I’m asleep my dreams start to strangle me
I wake up in tears and sometimes people hold me
But mostly I wonder if I am a burden. I wonder if I can be heard.
I cannot write poetry about my anxiety
Because I am afraid of the word
But I know you know what it feels like.
At any rate, I meant to tell you
In some way or another, eventually or not at all
That I read your poetry all the time.
That I tell pretty boys that I know, personally, the greatest poet and artist of all time and we shared a dorm room in a pretty city with pretty lights and she used to hand me my bottle of pain pills early in the morning.
I don’t mean to be strange
And I’m surrounded by so much love here I never seem to have a moment free
And there are so many people, I’m never alone
Every day there are concerts! and kissing! and bookstores! are you proud?
And I’m sure you haven’t got a spare minute to miss me
But if I ever cross your mind, if David Bowie and black jeans remind you of something
Let me know and I’ll crawl up to your skyline
And I’ll listen to your poetry and collect your tears
Because life always has a way of grinding to a stop for me
And when it does,
I always think
of you.
