5:55am
I don’t wanna be anxiously
Attached.
Because, if we’re a match, then why is it
Anxiously?
Go. Leave with reckless abandon
and I’ll stop fruitlessly trying to keep our
intentions in tandem,
cycling through our old messages
trying to keep my heart fed.
You always left me on read.
We lose the best parts of ourselves
trying to kiss the pain of others
I grew tired of
whispering into the roots of your family tree:
“Show me where it aches”
in the hopes of trying to know you.
Wrap rings around me, call me Saturn.
I bury my uncertainty beneath a mask until it’s my turn
and turn the soil. Hope masquerading as growth.
All the while these thoughts permeate:
What if my fear learned to see,
What if my heart knew to put on its armour
before bathing in the joy of loving, her
What if my lungs knew not to drown in the rock pools of
butterfly wings escaped from my stomach.
Shallow affection.
Love, don’t tell me my feelings are just too much
I’ve measured them out in the tattered pages of your favourite books,
in sleeves of your shirts yet to be worn,
so keep my heart there:
Tell me I’m just enough.
Some days, I can’t bring myself to face myself,
I don’t have the space to hold her and a
façade of what could have been.
And if I collected up, on bended knee
all the pieces that I’d given away to souls who stealthily learned to mirror me,
do you think I’d find enough to love me?
Wholly?
This affliction, addiction to searching is becoming unholy.
Love, if you cared enough to ask
I’d tell you.
Tell you that I’m measuring my breaths in
the seconds minutes hours
I’d spent wishing you’d text.
In the words I’d let turn to embers in fireplaces,
to feed flames, now your body isn’t here to keep me warm.
I’d tell you that time isn’t a healer,
that she’s a
thief who creeps in, in the dead of night, pries my eyelids open with barbed fingers
slipping beneath sheets, serpentine.
Stirring our memories,
and waits there.
On my chest.
Holding my
Breath.
Waiting for…