The rising tide.

What does the moon fear? 

Something fragile is closeby,

and hurting. 

Your hand in mine and 

the stars constantly falling.

Like heartbreak. 

Like the sound of strings and piano.

A valley I entered once. 

A long, long time ago

when I was quiet and 

raging. 

Now, I squeeze my teeth together 

like you showed me

when you taught me how

to smile.

Your breath lives in my lungs. 

I wait for the questions 

to seem like answers. 

I will wait

until the chords wrap around my fingers 

and I am quiet again. 

My imagination is a palace.

He wears a crown, 

in my mind. 

This character that tugs at my lips 

is someone that doesn't exist. 

Not truly. 

Not anywhere

but here.

You, a footnote. Me, a raging summary.

Sometimes I come back to myself,

like cool water 

drips down the back 

of a glass in July. 

Suddenly, I am twenty 

and phosphorescent.

 

I do not want. 

I live as a God, 

both revered,

and hated. 

One hand holds a doll; 

The other, a dishware set

from my grandparents' table. 

I live in the space where self-rejection

is a house on fire

and my friends are tiny tinder boxes. 

Here, I am home. 

Here, I live forever. 

this morning, over coffee

this morning

my skin is on fire

the glow of past hurt 

illuminating a path 

to more pain. 

it's like swimming

against the current;

it's like asking you to stay 

when your feet have already hit the landing. 

Trying again is taking a space ship 

to another planet 

and seeing the same coffee stains. 

I am deeply wounded 

and you are gone.