I used to have panic attacks every time I saw the sun rise - collapsed on my knees, hands shaking, lips blue, eyes red, and the air in this room is so thin I swear to God I can’t breathe.
You ask me how this feels but I can’t tell you I can only show you and even then I will fail to mention the hornets in my wrists and my fingers are like coffee filters and there’s lead in my throat.
I want to be honest, I’m trying to be someone new, someone I don’t know yet, but old habits die hard. If it’s not alcohol then it’s getting high, it’s the muscle memory of my hands grabbing a throat, gripping a hipbone like a pistol.
But sometimes it’s really nothing. It’s just you pushed me and I fell. I’m lying on the ground, your laugh sounds deeper from down here. It’s just you walked away, mud on my legs, rain water in my hair, and you inhaled deep. You had one last drag and then you quit.
I thought leaving you would be easy,
just walking out the door
but I keep getting pinned against it
with my legs around your waist and it’s like
my lips want you like my lungs want air,
it’s just what they where born to do so
I am sitting at work thinking of you
cutting vegetables in my kitchen
your hair in my shower drain
your fingers on my spine in the morning
while we listen to Muddy Waters, I know
you will never be the one I call home
but the way you talk about poems
like marxists talk of revolution
it makes me want to keep trying.
I’m still looking for reasons to love you.
I’m still looking for proof you love me.