"Dearest,"
I have spent more time than
I am comfortable admitting
trying to get over
the way my heart was not a thing
that you preferred to handle gently.
Where can I put these feelings down?
Why wasn’t my wanting
enough for you to want?
The juvenile joy I’d feel
when you’d fav a tweet
or text me anything at all,
at any point in the day
reminds me of how
in 8th grade I changed the route
I walked from 6th period to 7th period just
to see my crush. For the possibility
that he would look at me. Smile at me.
It feels the same.
I only wanted you to smile at me --
just look at me, every now and then.
I don’t think I
asked for too much. Only asked
to be someone
who you could share pieces of yourself with.
I never wanted you to bring me the sky.
I just wanted you
to let me exist under yours.
Next to you.
Hand in hand until it ended.
Sincerely,
"Guess Who's High"
I'm high and wondering if you would like
to blend worlds with me until six in
the morning, watching the day come up
on the dazzle of the way your words
wrap around mine in the rain in the sun
in the obvious testaments to a future
that neither of us can see yet.
Imagining what mistakes the world
has in store for us between
her clenched teeth waiting
for us to dive right in and start
to sink. When
I close my eyes I see colors that
mimic what pours from you
when you're talking about
things you love.
Like life. Like me. Like wrestling
time backwards and
seeing us home.
