I was 10
when I first started to
pray for the cabinet to swallow me whole.
To splinch my human body into something a deity won't pass up unworthy
to enter a magical realm where
I can meet a godly lion and a warmer sun.
I was 10
and, even then,
I wanted to be more than just the creaks of the floorboard, more than the weight of my innocence, more than a mere disdainful stare.

I was 12
when I first started
looking out the window,
waiting for a temperate owl on a tropical sky. I twirled the wood chips I tore off my mother's dresser
with the pink lipstick stains, and thought to myself,
my god, my god, what a life I am destined to live.
I was 12,
and even then,
I wanted to be more than just the creaks of the floorboard, more than the weight of my innocence, more than a mere disdainful stare.

I was 16
when I first started
distancing myself from the wardrobe,
from the wooden dresser,
from the creaks of the floorboard,
from innocence.

I flicked the ash off my 20th cigarette to the tear-soaked dishcloth I gauzed on my wrist to keep me from tracing the intersecting lines my father etched on the living room floor after a night of bowling and tears and tears and sadness.

I thought to myself, my god,
my god, my god,
what life am I destined to leave?

I am 20.  
I want to be more than just the creaks of the floorboard, more than the weight of my innocence, more than a mere disdainful stare.

If I learn to write again,
I would put into detail how
your eyes turn to steel blue
whenever you ask me about
the future name of our kids
running with their bikes on
Wisteria Lane

I would put into detail how
your morning coffee has the
smell of the sandalwood table
my father gifted my mother on
their 36th anniversary

I would also put into detail how
on nights I cry while struggling to
put three words and a sentence
on crumpled paper, you’d be
there.

There to run your palm over my
soaked shirt and whisper that I will forever be
your favorite writer.

(despite the fact I haven’t written our
grocery lists in months... scratch that, years)

I would learn to write again
to see how your face scrunch up
at every word I misplace or
commas I forget.

If I ever learn to write again,
I would write again for you.

Castle Hellencourt, remember when you took me to the beach?
You kicked the sand to my toes and laughed when it tickled my skin.

I was thinking, “he’s mad,
there’s no way he knows I’m shaking.”
but I was!

It was a hundred degrees and my toes were cooled down from the moment you knocked on my door and asked me to don on my best wedding suit because you’re gonna adorn me with seashells
and my, I was shaking so bad I emitted light
and you were beautiful and I was, too.

Castle Hellencourt, you took my heart away
the minute you asked me to smile.
It was a bright blue day like most the days
I have with you.
It was the third of September when the tenderness peaked and I was falling, falling, falling.
I’ve never been in love but it didn’t matter
you told me, birds do not need to fly first
before they land. I was scared and naive
I was fidgeting too hard
but you held me, Castle Hellencourt;
you did.