Put my demons to sleep tonight;
wrap them in a blanlet of "not now, try again later,"
kiss each one on the forehead before
you ask me to smile, before
you ask my fingers to cling to your skin-
it's not that they don't want to, it's that
they don't know how, that they're
too heavy and only remember their own weight when it
crushes the things I want to love.
Teach me how to break open and not
drown after the floodgates let everything loose,
teach me to stop living in corners, I want to know
what it's like to breathe freely
I want to know the sun on my face as she whispers "welcome",
and I want my hands to learn how
instead of destroy. Teach me
to love -
I'm too tired to read what's
on the wall, so
spell it out for me in words that I can understand,
spell it out in sentences that drip
honey and soothe these voices
inside my head, teach them how
to be quiet and to pick things up after
the pieces fall out of order again.
Teach me what summer feels like behind your eyelids when you've
been awake since 6am and you can't remember the grip
of ice anymore.
Teach me how to curl my fingers around the precious things
I don't want
to be broken anymore.