It’s 1:38 in the morning and
I can’t sleep because my body
wants to be with you. My mind
wants to punish me for not having
my body against yours tonight. My heart
feels like it’s weighing down my mattress
while the rest feels like it’s pushing up against
why are you even here anymore?
that moment when you’re more afraid of night than you are of the dark.
I don’t know what words to say to
this empty page that will emit the
emotions that you give me.
it astounds me that the way you
love me can push me to tears because
I don’t know if I’m doing enough to show you
how much you mean to me.
I don’t know how to tell you that I’m
crying because I manage to screw everything up,
and I don’t want what we have to end.
I don’t know why you wanted me so bad
that you turned down two lovely girls
that could probably treat you better.
I don’t know what to do with myself
when I’m having these thoughts, among
others equally undesirable,
and I can’t get a hold of you.
I want to sleep with you,
but in the most innocent way.
I love when you smile at
me and I can see that little
dimple resting on your cheek.
I love that I can make you smile by
kissing your cheek or laying
my hand on your chest as I
nearly fall asleep on you.
I love the way you say that
you love me. the way you whisper
it like a secret or the way you
say it like you’re proud.
I love the way you laugh at my
jokes (even those terrible puns).
and the way we laugh together when
we do something stupid.
I love the face you make when you’re
concentrating, or not concentrating or
literally doing anything.
I love you.
she stares out from the corner
of the room. her shirt, draped over
her exposed collarbones, is slowly starting
to fade into her backgrounds. I pull
my eyes from her thin thighs and her
meager knees to her enclosed eyes.
I wonder what she is trying to hide.
what could be so harmful that she would
wish to keep it from others?
I used to know her, though now it seems
I only recognize her name. the evidence
of her life before darkness, just traces,
a memory of a fading trail.
I try to chisel around her edges, but her walls
rebuild themselves as fast as she can blink away
those tears welling up in the corners of her eyes.
I want to know her again. She seems so distant,
so disparate from the sweet girl that I
can faintly remember.
I want to comfort her. Ask her what monsters
hide under her bed and then offer a nightlight.
I won’t ask her why she is afraid of the dark,
I will ask her if she needs help
turning the lights on again.
and if she says no, then I will stay
with her until she can find the lights
I stare into her eyes and I see it.
Memories of her past. and I want to
ask her why they seem so familiar,
but when I open my mouth,
my breath fogs the glass.
I do not know how you view me
as a warrior,
for I am nothing but my own enemy.
you call me strong,
strong enough to defeat my foes.
you tell me to stand tall,
when I measure only 5’1, head to toes.
I am determined to live up the image
you see me to be.
so I’m climbing to the pedestal
of what you view of me.
is this what being strong means?
if I manage keep the thoughts out
during the day,
they come rushing out at night,
bearing the gift of tears.
they say that it gets easier from here.
I’m not sure I believe them.
with over a year of clean wrists,
you’d think I’d have a better hold
on this situation.
behind a mask of composure,
my insides are trying to leak from my
scars, trying to push out from my skin,
trying to escape.
and I want to aid them.