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Feb 2017
Cemented in my chest
Were memories in the shapes of leaves
Fallen to the sidewalk once it'd gotten chilly, we met in Philadelphia
Outside some bar you got kicked out of
And you broke your hand on the wall of
The hospital next door
You spent the summer relearning how to write in print and I spent it analyzing the irony in what had happened,
Everything goes back to that night In Boston
Cemented In my chest
Are images of my first night out
My The Wonder Years shirt and
Cut off shorts, I was invincible
Unstoppable we were
Until the city lights
Made their move and
Swooped you away
I stopped seeing you outside bars
And behind them instead
When we were kids I'd never imagined
You in shackles made of taxes
It's weird how we chose our paths
You followed an addiction that filled your
Bones when nothing else could
I chose to stay empty
My fear kept me from prison
Your fear kept you from living
What's a home when the cobblestone
Was the first thing to rock you to sleep
At 14? You had alcohol poisoning 13 times before
Cemented in my chest
Are what ifs
Have beens
What would I be had you never crashed into me that night when you meant to start a fight with some man you claim couldn't see the same blue in my eyes?
Does anyone inside have my eyes?
Because I see your hazels in every single city light

I moved to a farm last year
To clear my mind
Of what had been cemented
In my chest since we were kids
Word salad
Written by
J  22/Gender Nonconforming/East Coast
(22/Gender Nonconforming/East Coast)   
460
     Raven, kaycog, Keith Wilson and J
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