almost every **** day
i halt words that are about to spill from my throat,
i hiccup over sentences that i can't bear to speak.
three letter words can serve as a trigger
that launches a full fledged attack on my nerves,
which in turn launches me out into the street.
and every time my heel hits the pavement
all i can hear is "get out. get out. get out."
all i know is that i need to get out.
and i need to get out fast.
but almost every **** day
i spit out terms of endearment
for all of those who
i hold so dangerously high.
i almost collapse under their weight
when that short, seemingly insignificant word
almost sneaks past my lips.
the soles of my sneakers
can barely hold me aloft
when i run with such panicked purpose,
hearing nothing but
"how could i almost- how could i almost-
how could i almost say-"
and knowing that
indeed, i almost said it.
and almost every **** day
i lash out at the memories
that i've cut into jigsaw pieces,
trying to throttle the
panic-prone girl i've grown from
into screaming the word
so loud her voice cracks
and her throat bleeds.
but she knows the weight
that a three lettered word can hold.
she will preserve a seat
within the limits of her vocabulary
for what she defines as
'safety, comfort, security'
even though i define it to mean
'panic. go. get out. escape.'
and almost every **** day
i utter a word to show my loved ones
how much i want to hold them,
to protect them and take
both attack and blame head on for them,
how much i want to hurt for them.
i stare into the eyes
of my best friends
and i almost say it,
i almost call them
'kid'