3:26 a.m
rain always reminds me of you
“hello?”
“sorry i missed your call”
“yeah”
“go to sleep. you’re drunk.”
“dont call me anymore”
“okay”
“…”
“i love you too” sighs
(it’s 326 am. I dont love you too.)
im shipping myself to you
usps doesnt like it
im on attempt 12
the black-capped chickadee has
13 recognized vocalizations.
i am laying in my bed
wearing a dress i haven’t worn in
months and months and months.
i wore it this one time we went out together
to the movies
and i was beautiful for you
but you didn’t notice
because i do things very quietly.
loving you was like throwing the contents
of a salt shaker
into a black hole.
i would race up so
many flights of stairs for you.
i would love you on every
flight of stairs
until we are at the top:
breathless
i am sitting at the
kitchen table, painting my nails.
i sometimes need to take a break
from running into this wall
between us because there are
bruises up and down my side—
black, and purple, blue—
bruises in me i do not know
how to find.
i want to put clear nail polish
over everything you are so
that none of my favourite things
can chip off and fall away.
i want to kiss you in the attic
and in a loft
and any high up place
because i want you to feel
as close to the sky
as you can get
without being in an airplane
because i know that flying
frightens you.
i want to make a home of your
3 a.ms for the reason that i know
you’re awful at staying asleep.
love is something to believe in,
and i’ve never been religious in anything
until now.
unclear stream of thought
what do you think about the name oscar?
i have a headache.
you are like a stranger
i’d like to talk to every day
and your name has 5 letters.
i hope when or if or where
i meet you,
i say all my words right.
it is hard to pronounce things.
i wish i could sing in french
and i wish i had freckles
or soft hair
or skin like ivory
or green eyes
or anything you think is beautiful.
i asked you if you would cry or laugh if i was
in a car wreck and you said you’d cry
but i don’t know if i believe you.
my heart is a sunken ship
under hundreds of layers
of sea water.
my brother scares me sometimes.
he has a temper and sunken eyes
like he hasn’t slept in weeks.
he scares me because the words
i’d like to hear never come
in threes.
i am scared for all that he is, or was, or will be.
i am scared for his empty pockets and his
hands, all scarred from beer-soaked fights,
for his thick skin,
his taurus tendencies.
i am shaken by the likeness
of him and Achilles,
i am scared of him because he is
just
like
me.
