scared, i

scared i. leave leave leaves burn holes in my crippled heart
please stop the fall, please stop the fall, please stop me from
falling every time i think of how you will come back and then leave
i fear seeing your face again so close to mine again, so close yet so far
so close yet so closed, how, why, when, and how much longer
how much longer will you stay open, stay with me, stay with me
please, stay, i hear her talk of disappointments and failures and cockily
my crippled heart thinks “i remember when i searched so frantically for
disappointments and failures in you, in us, and
did not find any, only found many in me”. i thought, how is that even possible?
that you made me laugh so much, no one else did this before, and you kept
making me laugh, we kept making us laugh, for 700 days and onward.
that is a lot more than 500 days of summer, and all of it was spring,
completely spring, no fall, no winter, only you and me, but
how is that even possible? how are we still so open?

scared ii. the only people i opened up to have changed,
and change means pieces of them evaporate into old melded memories
made to fit the nostalgic cracks in our brains,
my brains, because when you evaporate, you leave,
and i,
left behind, hold on with sweaty palms to the water droplets your river leaves behind,
so my mind like a broken record player screeches
are you mine, when will you be mine,
and i remember you, you who used to be mine, but i guess
family is more temporary than love, despite the, or more like, because of the, real permanency of it. but it still hurts, i still miss you and it leaks sometimes when i
accidentally, absent-mindedly pick at the wounds this left in me, pick at the holes
in the dam in me that keeps my flooding eyes in check.
i know we all know picking only leads to more scabbing
and the wounds they will never heal this way, but it gets itchy,
my eyes get itchy with how much they miss the special days, the ballerina benches,
the carpe diem dances, the me and you in a cocoon, those cocoons.

and scared iii. you and me in this cocoon; when do we, will we turn into butterflies?
when will it be real, on paper, will it be real on paper? will they lead you away from me,
will they take you away, will you take you away, or
am i really this lucky yet unlucky because
scared, maybe i will keep frantically counting the days even when we are together for
something like 18,250 of them, and you will laugh, we will still be laughing,
and you will pet my head and call me crazy, and i will pick at my scab,
and wish you all are near, and
i’m sorry, i have developed this allergy to leaves, said the scared i.

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historical fiction and purple dreams

we used to be embarrassed of admitting our love for love, so we
jokingly labelled it something that bored us to death.
and you’re scared of happiness dying once labelled, so where
i dream and see romance, you dream and fear horror. but love,
love is love and horror all mixed up together and everyday i wake up
with my heart gripped in the firm grasp of your warm hands, both
(a) fearing that we may one day cling too tight and suffocate like maybe you’ll
squeeze my heart dry and i’ll bloody your pure hands, and (b) also dreaming
that our grips may never loosen and we love so hard our faces turn purple

i am here

(when) are you coming back?
i wanted to ask “when” but now i ask
are you? but then i think, thankful that i have
a silent “today” at the end of my
hey, i was born with half of a pair of
handcuffs closed around my wrist, the
other half dangling and i must have
swallowed the key in my sleep as an infant.
i am thankful for the “today” and that i know
if you say no it will be “okay” my monsters are
scared of that word, you know? of okay. so i am over
joyed when they allow me to think it and
i try so hard to not close the other half of
the handcuffs on any one because that is
when they start squirming and i do not like
squirmy things i want all of us to be free
and yet i was born with these handcuffs
dangling from my wrist so i smile and then
i shake in fear of my own claws when
you leave pieces of you behind because then
i know you will have to come back to get them but
when i feel okay i am okay and know
you will come back anyway because
i believe i am a big piece of you that
i will always have with me so you
will come back for that for me
even if not today

i hate when you ask me about tomorrow

i don’t know who Tomorrow is,
mom, dad, please.
Tomorrow is a shadow and
our flashlights do not shine
can not shine light that far into
places that dark, even though
dad, you are in love with those shadows
imagining you can see what is there, and
mom, you are trying to love those shadows,
imagining you know what they are shadows of, but
we don’t, i know we don’t, i do not like
looking at things i can not see, being
blind when i could choose not to be,
so, please, let me look around at
what is well-lit, what is within reach,
please, let me be Today.
i do not like staring at places i can not see.

i am thankful for the moments

of when you laugh like a child how can you laugh so much like a child that i want to carry that sound around with me in my ears i want to see that image of the dimple on the right side of your cheek every time i close my eyes to remind myself that despite these cages we build around our hearts as we grow, this still exists you still exist in such burning light despite your corners of darkness and i am thankful for the moments of when your arms reach out like safety nets to catch the bits and pieces of fears and doubts that leak out from my overcrowded anxious mind and sing to them even though they are scared of music but your voice feels like blankets and they seek warmth they crave warmth like the warmth of grocery store shopping in pairs and of you letting me borrow your longer limbs to reach places i could never reach before in my shortness and i am thankful for the moments where the monsters in our heads decided to lay down their heads and rest because somehow when i held you and when you held me our hollow throats intertwined and burst out sweet lullabies and so i am so thankful for these fourteen months and counting of counting sheep let the monsters that plague lonely corners sleep let the chirping birds and shared bedsheets remind us how lucky we are to be two is better than one and alive