i will never really find the wounds
you left.
I won’t go looking for them,
anyway.
Because i know that the second i think
it’s time to heal,
you’ll be there again.
making me want to touch your hand.
making me want to save you.
making me want to keep you.
so when people stare at me
and say,
“with scars like that,
who’s ever gonna love her?”
i’ll think to myself,
“I don’t even feel them anymore.”
“beware of pisceans”
why cant i listen to myself
PISCEANS WILL RIP YOUR
HEART OUT
AND YOU WILL THINK ABOUT
HIS HANDS
UNTIL HE BURIES YOU WITH THEM
when i tell him
i want to be broken–
like a vase, in his hands
he replies,
“i want to show you
what it’s like
to be
cradled”
Alors, tu m’aimes, vrai?
you touched me with your cold hands
and all i could think was
“oh. you’re there”
a poem by my sister
i love you on an airplane with your hand
clamped tight around mine
with tears running down my face
because planes scare the FUCK out of me
