I am made up of thousands of tiny cracks in composure

I have a scar on my right wrist from a pair of handcuffs, when a cop was a little more than cordial with me
I've got at least two from running face first into counter tops or door frames..
I could name four off the top of my head that my ***** ex girlfriend left me, they look like shaky trails on a treasure map. maybe her excitement got the better of her, but I got her best..and worst
I've got a constellation of pin ****** across my shoulders of acne scars that'll never heal right after my seventh trip to lockup
And now that I've gained and lost my full body weight in five months, I've got three dozen pretty pink stretch marks I'm afraid won't ever turn white

And I guess besides that I have whole novels written down my sleeves.
Most of my arm doesn't even look like an arm anymore
And the only good I can say about that is, I was 17 the last time I had to cover up my "mental health days" with bright blue mickey mouse band aids
that's four years of wearing my wrist band that reads "I have healed now"
My patchwork is messy, I have to admit, but it holds together nicely

And now that they're all just gentle interruptions..nothing gory or too scary to see..I wear my own skin so comfortably
I'm not proud of the disaster I left on my own body, but I'm not ashamed that I made it out alive either.

"I have healed now" but I was there when you burned your own house down to try to feel warm again, and it's been four years but I remember the way that cold touched my bones, I wear this scrapbook of knife work so you know that the good days are coming, one day they will only be scars, one day they will only be memories
even if it takes time

I make a habit of frequenting the bar across the parking lot
in hopes of casually bumping into you

I rehearse in my head the way I'll avoid striking up conversation
leave my number tucked between bills in the host book on the table
stroll out the door, I promise myself I will not look back

My therapist says my unmedicated mania is dangerous
because I turn into disaster, the way I'm longing for your smile

Today's my birthday and I'm finally old enough to sit quietly alone with a glass of bourbon, the way my father does
I scratch my fingertips raw on the table longing for the clicking of graphite nails
But I cut them to the quick when I spent two days worrying about what you might think if you saw my hands

and my driver spit dip and asked me about my life
things she probably doesn't even know about me
Which is fine
she was undressed before I took my boots off
she waved goodbye from the door of her apartment while her nicotine hands traced every curve from her pink lace lips to the dip where her thighs meet

I have only ever described myself as hungry when it comes to her
And she is the only girl I could ever wish to devour
Completely

how could I live with myself waking up beside her bones
fractured and splintered under the weight of I Love You's that only last until the next mating season starts

And I've been trying for so long to forget the way her palm lights my skin on fire but she told me that I had soft lips like she has never memorized this mouth of braile
like she doesn't already know what I feel like against every inch of her

She sent me home in an uber
and I'm an idiot for letting her convince me I could be safe here

tonight I'm celebrating 21 years of jumping head first through the clouds without so much as a goodbye kiss so we can just forget the parachute all together

You taste exactly the same as you did four years ago and I know that because I broke every rule I have ever made for myself so I could see you naked again

Does that sound ******? What I mean is, tonight I'm celebrating my 21st birthday and it wouldn't feel real enough if I couldn't still smell your perfume in patches in the back of my hair or along the collar of my shirt or anywhere your forget me not fingers have touched

Your taste in music and these black scratch tattoos are the only difference between the sweet 15 year old that stole my heart and the air from my lungs and all the blood from my veins and the nearly 20 year old pin up doll that only wants me when she feels lonely

But baby I've been lonely since I left you the last time so here I am
For you
Always

I swear it's nights like this
(I threw out my NA chips)
And I've had a few too many sips
And I can feel the weight of your heart shaped lips
Pressed against my eyelids

I've been trying to fall asleep for four months
Afraid to forget the way your eyes traced every inch of my fragile being before walking away for the last time

I know I look terrible in green
Rather be draped in this pale skin and
You
Always you

The last time we slept together I almost died when I had to pry myself from your arms
Or my arms from around myself
Or whatever makes the most sense in saying
I have missed you every moment since then

I don't drink anymore because I still don't eat and I can feel the alcohol tearing holes in my insides
And that's already your job
And you're so ******* good at it

I've been trying to plug these holes and their frayed edges with anything that sounds like the way you laugh when you're nervous

So what I mean is
I'm a liar
I drink until I feel light headed but never drunk so I know exactly what I'm saying but I have every excuse to pretend not to

When I'm pleading with the way you swear you'll never stop loving me
And I've seen you naked in the last two months since I've been home
And that would almost feel like a victory

Except

When I'm working
I have to hold my breath sometimes because I'm so scared of what I'd have to say to you if you ever walked in our front door to make you leave

Because watching you sit with in arm's reach might actually be the final death of me

And that would be a miracle

I talked to an old ex of mine about tiny magics and how mine is never dying no matter how hard I try

No matter how many words like bullets you shoot into my temples
No matter how many needles dipped in poison you watch me then dip into my veins
No matter how many times I tear out all my guts so I can hand you my heart again
And no matter how many times you leave it on ***** street corners in the rain

Do you remember how you would kiss my fingertips and how softly we would hold each other as I ran that blessed holy water of a hand down to the small of your back
Do you remember what your name sounds like in my voice

Do you remember
What it was like
Holding my blood red heart
in your hands

Isn't it such a relief that I can show up 40 minutes early to work every single morning because
I'm not out chasing my next high 10 minutes after I roll out of bed

What an achievement that when I hide in the bathroom nobody misses me because
1) I'm not even on the clock and
2) I'm not spending 20 minutes figuring out which of these abused veins will take my ******* with out talking back to me

Doesn't it **** that I'm here again
On these tiled floors
Cold and sick to my stomach
But at least this time my heart's still beating! And every one notices the bright blue tattoo on my forearm before they ever mention the needle point I've been sewing into the crook of my elbow for three years

And it's sad sad sad that I can almost see the look on my best friend's face when she pried my lifeless body off of these same ****** tiles

But today I'm just wishing I was
I'm not really high these days
So at least it's not that

IT'D BE THE ONE LOVE POEM I EVER WROTE ABOUT SOMETHING BESIDES GETTING HIGH ALONE

my sister would commend me on my ability to write something beautiful for once
that stole someone's breath in a way that sounds like "stay with me"
instead of slamming the door in your face

it would probably be a very detailed description of the way your lips move when you're talking ****
and the way your tongue brushes along your back teeth when you're trying not to smile when I do it back
which honestly might be the easiest part to write

it'd be something really gay about your terrible choice in flowers or the color lilac or the TINIEST of confessions that are really too small to hear

it would be stamped in gold stars
and sold as quotes by people that aren't me

and probably aren't you
but I think you'd be okay with that
because then everyone would know how I feel about you

and if I could write a poem like the way you talk to me
everyone would already know anyway