i will hold your hand
into the darkness, i will
close my eyes until
i see the light beyond the
skies, i promise you i will

Even on a good day
my eyes gaze through a cloud.
I think the colors are vibrant
but it’s merely the shadows dimmed down.

The doubt has been sharpened
the frailty ready to pounce.
If a twig snaps outside my walls,
I am prepared to tear everything down.  

When the book was shut
someone stuffed it inside the case.
Confirming my trickle of fear
and spelling out my mistakes.

I highlighted every typo
I revised all the drafts.
I thought I could fix the punctuation by clinging.
So I suffocated the past.

I cling like snow to eyelashes
frozen and unforgiving,
or shadows to a cavern
too ashamed to let the sun in.

I reach for him like starlight
blowing wishes on desperate pollen.
I drink in his compliments
and my existence relies on his attention.

I bind to my patterns
like a moth killing itself for light
And if feelings are divergent
well, I start a fight.

I ****** my flaws.
“We will protect you,”they whisper.
I resent their ignorant attempts.
Plastic wrap, holding broken glass together.

I cringe at the words “I love you."
I can’t look them in the eye.
It hurts to know they exist.
Love doesn’t need my consent to survive.

But frost wouldn’t pound on June’s door
demanding a second chance.
And mountains don't lose their mind
when the wind asks crumbling rocks to dance.

Look away, look down.
Squint hard enough and you’ll see the light.
But what worked just as well as grasping
was opening my eyes.

(As if sitting in a wooden box)

I confess.
I confess to feeling the pain of needs unmet and overlooking it,
to hearing the opening of things, the closing of them too
the confidence of a heart unbroken say "I'd like to try!"
and a cold bitter laugh in a triumph of parsimony.
I confess to doing less and allowing it in my own vulnerability.

(As if tearing a casing spun of silk)

I am a catalogist, rebuilding a place
In my defence I have known you less, but even now -
there are no reference books to your emotions or reactions
no rule of thumb except to ease anger, aid logic, clear runways.

(As if the knowing was as easy as the learning)

together we are four decades of stubbornness and pain and kindness
we are warmed feet on the black range cooker
we are the climbing wall at the fair
You are three dots, ellipsis, open-ended.
and i am writing bad poetry about a girl who can fly...