so you're disappointed
that you're disappointed
and maybe that's to be expected
some folks make beds
out of their catharsis
differently than others
it's this list
of things you lost in the fire
or how jealous you are
of people
who never came back up for air
you're crying
so the faucets leak out of solidarity
& someone asks you
why the floor is wet
so you tell them
"we've been weeping here forever"
then they want to give you
a mouth full of presupposition
by saying
"are you going down with the ship?"
& you look them in the mouth
like Leo is handcuffed to a pipe
five decks down
you look at them
like you just woke up
from that dream everyone has
where all their teeth fall out
maybe it's an intervention
a hearse vs station wagon origin story
a clearance sale
& everything's gotta go
or maybe it's the dream
where you're at the docks
from your childhood
and there's a little girl
unmooring all the ships
because she thinks
they'll float away
but every time
she unties them
they just sink




                                          they just sink

I remember back, to the time when I was numb.
All the way back to one of the darkest times in my life,
I remember the face of the boy who shined through my darkness.
I remember the first person to make me feel again.
It was one of the most excruciating things I'd done... feeling again.
You were like the ocean, and I, a grain of sand.
It felt like you ripped me out of my comfortably miserable little beach
and swept me out into your sea and proceeded to drown me.
But you had no idea of the effect you had, you were just being the sea.
I remember the first time I met you, my gaze swept right past.
And then you spoke.
You made me laugh, and it hurt to laugh but it felt so right.
Even on my darkest days, you'd be there to make sure I could smile again.
You'd always do everything you could to pull me out of my pit.
You became my best friend and I fell so hard, oh how I fell.
That's what hurt.
I wasn't allowed to love you as I'd wanted to.
You had your girlfriend and she was so sick and she needed you.
I watched you, dying to make her better.
You didn't sleep. You barely ate.
I noticed the etches on your wrist and my heart shattered.
There was nothing I could do for the boy I loved.
I wish there had been something I could have done for you and for her.
It's been years since I last saw you.
I still think about you all the time.
I don't think I could ever forget you.
The one I couldn't have.
The one I should've had.
We would have been so good.
It's funny..
I know you loved me too.

Sometimes I get one of those nostalgic feelings rush through me whenever I get a whiff of fresh plaster or spackle. It reminds me of all those times my dad would have to patch up another hole in one of the walls. At one point he would only do it once a week. When you know that there’ll just be more the next day, why not wait a while and fix them all at the same time? Eventually he stopped fixing them altogether. I used to think it meant it was okay and that when I got angry enough I could just put a hole in the wall too and add to the collection of broken bits of my family. When my parents discovered the accumulation of chasms in my wall, my dad made me learn how to fix them because I was not allowed to react the same way as my brother. Needless to say, I rarely put my hand or foot through the walls after the first 2 times I had to fix them. I wish there was some way they could have managed to get my brother to fix the voids he’d created. Perhaps, he’d have learned how much the damage you inflict can affect those around you. I know I certainly did.

I remember hiding under an old cherry wood dining table. I remember holding my baby sister, shielding her eyes, covering her and trying to tuck her away. Pulling her as close to me as possible, like I might be able to fold her skin into mine so she wouldn’t have to see what was happening around us. I can still hear her crying into my bony 7 year old shoulder and whaling amongst the chaos with the bitty 4 year old voice that she had at the time. I remember the heart stopping feeling of watching my mother get thrown into the wall and watching my brother, 11 years older than myself, hurtle the beautiful antique silver coffee *** that my grandmother left us- into the space near her head where it bludgeoned the wall. I remember barely being taller than the table myself and pulling my sister out when I saw a chance for us to escape the scene and run into another room.  I remember turning around and seeing my older sister, who was 10 at that time, running up and hitting and kicking my brother and getting shoved to the side. I’ve grown accustomed to the headaches I now get at the sight of flashing police lights.

Today would have been a year for us.
After we parted
I asked you
if you would remember.
You had no idea what day it would be.
It never mattered to you
because every day we were together
was just as important.
It still bothered me though
because a year is a long time.
We didn't make it to here
because I had to go.
I still love you.
Happy would be one year.