If I had a better memory
I would let those conversations lull me to sleep
And play that vocabulary in my mind like
A handwritten song
And there are a lot of things that make up a human mind
Components that reach all the way down into your ribcage
Through trembling hands and empty stomaches
But I intend to feel them all
One time,
A long time ago,
Someone used the word "frightening"
To describe the uncertainty
And burden
That comes with having complex emotions
That word is used as a scapegoat
To expunge yourself of the shadow of vulnerability
It takes hours to reach the tips of my fingers
With everything I feel
And maybe I write so much
Because I never remember exactly what people say
Or maybe it's because
I would like to remember it through rose tinted glasses
Either way
It stretches across miles
And I would use that scapegoat word
To describe what it feels like to be vulnerable
When you realize all of these pretend walls you've put in place
Can be destroyed with the right knock
And I think poetry
Isn't about that frightening feeling
It is about
Feeling it
Being frightened
Having emotion
And continuing
Where others would not

maybe its because it hurts somewhere in the pit of my stomach to think about how far away you are and how close we used to be and thats why i try to stay moving all of the time because i'm trying to distract myself from how long it would take for me to get there and how long id have to hold my breath in order for you to admit you wanted me where you are.

maybe its because i never got over the first time you told me you wanted to kiss me or the first time you told me you were tired of me because they felt so similar that sometimes i get the syllables twisted and i felt like too much work and detail on an abandoned project so i let you place me somewhere between your old memories and your new ambitions because whats the difference between compliance and being too exhausted to argue?

maybe its because it hurts to think about all that you've done and all that i've done and it hurts to lace them together in a spiderweb of why we didn't work out and maybe its because we didn't try hard enough or maybe its because we have always been written as a tragic story where we are both victims of self sabotage with emotional damage that keeps us up at night and our own demons that could never learn to love eachother

maybe it hurts because its not our fault or maybe it hurts because it is and we are both too stubborn to admit it

i sit in a boat
and im so far from shore i have forgotten which direction the horizon follows me
i am so far from home the word sounds foreign and construed as an apology
i am so out of reach the seagulls will never dive deep enough
or swoop shallow and barely disturb the oceans sequence of tides and rhythms
to pick me up

i sit in a boat
the waves steady flow acts as a clock to keep me sane
it rocks me
it rocks my boat
back and forth in its tick tock motion
the fact that i haven't seen any fish glide by
and wrap themselves in the warmth of the crystals dancing on the top of the water
creates a feeling more violently lonely in the pit of my stomach
than the fact that i sit in a boat all alone

i sit in a boat
in the middle of the ocean
in the middle of nowhere
its easy to comprehend that there is nothing above me
the sky is a blank sheet of paper
the horizon falls all around me an encompasses me
looking up makes me lose time with the waves

its harder to comprehend the likelihood of nothing below me
when i fall in the water
and when i wave my arms towards the diamonds above me
when i blow air though my nose
and keep my eyes shut tight
when the water begins to get cold around my feet
towards my chest and on my shoulders
when the light green water that has comforted me like a mother
that has taught me like a father
the waves that have kept me in sane like a teacher
disintegrates into a dark murky black
so quickly i have no time to notice
where the pressure is too loud to hear any lessons
where the touch is so ice cold every hug feels like a constrictive hand around my throat

i sit in a boat
its easy to understand i am alone up above
no one calls dinnertime
no waves rock me to sleep
no birds call their mates
no bugs fall in and out of their reflections
its harder to fathom that
under the peak of the water
under the tired lazy strokes
i look intently and see nothing
i look intently and all i see is how
in an ocean that stretches forever
and falls off of the horizon
i was alone before i realized it
i was alone when the sun reached down
and bounced off of its blue playground
i was alone when it comforted me and i was alone when it choked me
all i have ever been
is completely alone

i have wasted so much paper for you
i have told strangers things i haven't thought about telling you
i have written poetry like
its a cheap substitute for therapy
and i've held the pencil so hard the lead breaks
when my hands shake too much to keep going
i have gone to all of these great lengths
i have written epics about the way you left me
i have written sonnets about how you came back
ive never shown you any of this in fear you will see how my handwriting slowly deteriorates into shaky lines and abstract complaints
in fear that you will make the connection that i havent spent one day free of you since we met
i feel like i have so much to say
and maybe im an expert on beating around the bush
or maybe you're just too self absorbed to hear me
i have tried every way to encrypt my words and say them without letting their meaning sink into your skin
ive got enough for a novel but i havent made my point
i love you
stop hurting me

i try not to write poetry with your name in mind
because maybe im afraid of getting optimistic
maybe hopeful is too much of a burden to carry around
and staying angry is more safe than
all of the colors i feel when i look you in the eyes
and believe me baby-
sorry-
believe me,
i avert your gaze with probable cause
its easier to hate you than to hate our odds
and the comfort i feel when you say my name
like a whisper
like a prayer
like a moment for me alone
its easier to keep this pessimistic mindset
because i think, even as a raincloud, i can admit
if i describe the way my hands shake
when you touch me
i will never be able to silence myself
its easier to keep all of this bottled up
and sent out to sea
with no recipient
than to reach across the table
and break the silent rules we never put into permanence
believe me,
it's easier to avert your gaze
than to confront my feelings
because you know how i feel about confrontation
i can sleep surrounded by white noise
and i'll still have said too much
because every time you slip up
i feel it in my chest
and maybe i can admit that i dream about the eye contact i avoid
without destroying the way we both hold our breath around eachother
i dream about you hating these urges the same way i do
i dream about you wanting me and your sacrilegious mindset
and maybe if i fall asleep sober enough
in that dream
i can find a way to reach across the table
and write optimistic poetry about
how it feels to break the rules

because it echoes inside of my head
and i stare at a blank screen waiting
for the grace of God to light everything up
to light me up
to follow my parents footsteps and pretend im not in
desperate need of a deep breath
we are putting on a show and i am the star of their exasperated
"just get through it, alright?"

i know its over
because it has slowed to this gradual
remedial stop
after so much time and fake kinetic energy
and all i am left to do
is ponder the imaginary hypocrisy of something real
that is unable to be created
but destroyed in an instant
that manages to take hours
like my own personal paradox
my own personal big bang
i starve while watching everyone eat full meals

but, i suppose, my pauses cause bitterness and i know its over
because it took you this infinite instant to form
"i don't care anymore"
and you watched the expressions dance across my blank face
like you were my very own god
and in those words
that instant
that feeling
that remedial stop
you were telling me
"you don't need a deep breath.
you need an oxygen mask."

love is your recovery room
it is not the accident that puts you there
it doesn't matter how many times
i push my pencil into paper
and pass metaphors off as my own

i know its over
because i know you well enough
to know what it looks like
when color drains from your face
when your eyes gloss over like you've never said my name before
you are worse than a corpse
alive and breathing while i stay hooked into an IV with your words pushing through my bloodstream

i can write and write and write
about how much i know
how well i can pretend
how many big breaths i need

but it will not make it less over
it will not change the fact that
while i sit in the middle of my own big bang
while i choke on this instant
i use my last words
to apologize for making so much noise
i use my last words
to ask if you're breathing alright