once upon a time, you asked me to tell you stories. they never made sense but they made you laugh but when it was your turn you'd shrug and look at the floor. you can't weave fiction, you're too cerebral, ive always been the creative one. now im stuffing your essays in the space between my ribs and pretending thats enough. youve always been more politics than poetry - you hate poetry. but you always came when i performed (said my poems were the only ones you could stand. said the others were static noise) youre miles away, youre chasing cemeteries and im chasing you. ive always been more successful, youve always been kinder. when i cry you speak softly and i scream. when you cry i laugh and you go quiet and i feel sick. you still believe in duty and honor and honest politicians though i tried to convince you that everyone lies, just like you. i took you outside at night and taught you the only constellation i know, told you about desperate boys and girls like mountains, and redwood forests at three a.m. and blew smoke in your face. now its your turn. tell me a story. tell me how they broke you to bits and built you up again. tell me how youre afraid to die. tell me how ive hurt you and youll never trust me quite the same again. tell me about your favorite book again, describe the dragon so vivid my own monsters seem like broken dolls. i'll offer you a drink and you'll refuse. (i'm so sorry that you're gentle and i'm cruel. i'm sorry for treating you sweet then snapping your wrist. come back. this time i'll be kind. this time i'll listen.)