The scales are rarely ever
even, and too often
I find myself laden with love -
sinking with the sick feeling
that I will drown this way,
that I will suffocate;

and you weren't anything
exceptional:

on the last day of camp, equipped
with a sharpie you wrote
your name - isolated/ the same -
on the cabin wall, while I
wrote mine - changed/ beside
the phrase: "I fell in love
too many times to count, and I will
bleed until this love dies"
and only then will the scales shift,
and my hollow heart will rise -
a victory? Maybe.