I wonder what it's like to have arms
that don't feel like weights dragging
in the sand, leaving creases in everything
you've touched, or stumbled past,
trying to reach some place where
the ground is solid,
not liquid beneath the soles
of our feet, constantly changing
and challenging us to meet the day
with uncertainty
and certain immediacy of choices,
all of which will inevitably cause you
to leave or to stay.
I wonder what it's like to forget
where I've been and focus on
where I am now; I wonder if I'd be happier
or even more lost.
I walk around like an open wound
without the vulnerability; walls
around the sore but nothing to help
it heal.
My chest feels heavy.
My back feels heavy.
The weight of you is heavy,
almost as heavy as the weight of my own arms.