secrets.
now I’m making out the shapes
like the shower rod.
can it take my weight?
people say the most incredible things when they love each other. they make promises much larger than they can keep and they give away everything they have to hold them up. to be the perfect perfect someone for their perfect someone.
and in the same way, there is so often a multitude of things that we may ask of each other in times of need. we might ask for previous happenings to be removed or erased. we might beg and plead for things to change, or to stay very very still and same.
but this time, I’m finding myself asking too much. or refusing to do so, I guess.
it’s too big to ask him to be here for this.
it’s too cruel to ask him to sit by and watch me dissolve like this.
when the joints of walls shift. when I can’t find the air in the bottom of my lungs, though I know it’s there. I can’t pull myself off the floor long enough to tell him he’s free to go if he can’t do it. and I can’t seem to manage an apology, or any sort of answers for why. I’m trying to feed myself some sort of hope. some sort of positive solids to rely on instead of him. but it just puts my stomach in a vice. my heart in my teeth. and my wrists behind my knees.
and I’ve been dragging thoughts about lately.
the dead women of my family.
those bridge jumpers. the disappearances. the heavy drinkers.
I’m drowning in my lineage. I’m drowning in what will become of me.
when the anonymous bodies in the edges of my vision finally strangle me.
like the shower rod.
can it take my weight?
people say the most incredible things when they love each other. they make promises much larger than they can keep and they give away everything they have to hold them up. to be the perfect perfect someone for their perfect someone.
and in the same way, there is so often a multitude of things that we may ask of each other in times of need. we might ask for previous happenings to be removed or erased. we might beg and plead for things to change, or to stay very very still and same.
but this time, I’m finding myself asking too much. or refusing to do so, I guess.
it’s too big to ask him to be here for this.
it’s too cruel to ask him to sit by and watch me dissolve like this.
when the joints of walls shift. when I can’t find the air in the bottom of my lungs, though I know it’s there. I can’t pull myself off the floor long enough to tell him he’s free to go if he can’t do it. and I can’t seem to manage an apology, or any sort of answers for why. I’m trying to feed myself some sort of hope. some sort of positive solids to rely on instead of him. but it just puts my stomach in a vice. my heart in my teeth. and my wrists behind my knees.
and I’ve been dragging thoughts about lately.
the dead women of my family.
those bridge jumpers. the disappearances. the heavy drinkers.
I’m drowning in my lineage. I’m drowning in what will become of me.
when the anonymous bodies in the edges of my vision finally strangle me.