this is when the fire would disappear,
if there was one. this is when
the door would hang loose on its hinges,
weary from leaving.
this is when we would cry,
sift dirt from diamonds in our hands,
if we could cry, if there were diamonds.
this is when the curtain would become
stray thread and tightened noose,
if we had a reason for kicking over.
this is when the sky would close,
the clouds would wave white flags in mourning,
if we had a reason for hung heads,
if we had a reason for blackness and
bruise and blinding,
but we don’t. we don’t.
You were never the stars
I wished upon
but thank you for being my center
of gravity. Pull me yet closer,
promise to hold every shard of
my broken self together.
In May, the tears betrayed
the rains you’ve been choking back
for months. You were afraid
I’d find the pits in your collarbones
and that I’d fall out of love.
Did I? Will I ever?
You tried so hard
to keep us together though
you barely managed to keep
yourself whole. I see you sometimes
pulling your knees to your chest
and trying not to explode
but how many times do I have
to tell you that no matter how many
pieces you explode into,
I’ll still fall for every universe
that lies within them?
We are bones chattering
and shoulders shaking
I’d still breathe you
if you collapse into a thousand sighs.
In order to become the supreme adult, you must perform the seven wonders:
- Public speaking
- Not being afraid of teenagers
- Calling the doctor yourself
- Arguing without crying
- Having a normal sleep pattern
- Having an answer to the question ‘what do you want to do with your life?’