i used to hate sundays,
but sometimes you hold
my hands in the pews
at church and i think that
i've been saved in more
ways than one

maybe my hands shake because
i've been told settling is wrong,
and my fingers have been kept
in their skin for too long

(if i shed, i'm sure i'll grow wings)

my street has been
dark for a while, but
now that there are
lights on every porch,
this neighborhood feels
a lot less empty
and i've been thinking that
maybe it'd be okay now
for you to come
home

i.
some days are more
worth living than
others; today is not
one of those days

ii.
your words stay pinned
on my mirror, and i
don't know if i am
keeping them there to
torture myself
or to remind myself
that i should stay
alive

iii.
i used to be okay,
and i don't know how
i ever was that way
or how to get back

iv.
you used to draw maps me
on my arms; nobody knew where
they went except for
you

v.
i want go where
you do, but i don't know
how to find you