I am addressing

My words are

I see and hear

You weren’t joking

My understanding of time is

I love

I am

How long has it been

Remember when you were awakened

I can’t recall

I struggle with

My mind waves

Were you awake

Was the day-to-day

I am thinking of

I am thinking of

I’m not sure how you

Can we talk

I want to be

I want to be

I want to be

I want to be

I want to be

I want to be

I want to be

I want to be

I want to be

I want to

I am sometimes offered

I love

I can’t tell

I’d rather live

I’d rather live

I’d rather experience

I’d rather fail

I’d rather remain

Let’s regroup and refresh

I’ll bring

I made

I made

I made

I made

I left

I made attempts

I wanted to eat

I wanted to believe

I wanted to wield

I wanted to gain

I wanted

I wanted to care

I wanted

I wanted to see

I made

I made

I made

I made

I keep thinking

It seems like we were

I want to put

I’d rather want

I’d rather dream

I wear

I can see

I apologize

I don’t mean to

The truth is, I don’t want

I want to be

I wish I had

I try my best

My decisions revolve

I attempt to

But I find

I try to ignore

I’d like to see

I think I need

you from a length of space and time

fractured and soft

you every day

when you told me

adhesive and slightly stretchy

the ongoing fiction within

free yet passive

since we last danced

by your loss

the specifics

these words despite

back at me while

before the fog settled in?

as gruesome as it was gray?

items that are sitting above

and powdered fake milk

pulled it off

about my projected love life?

the girl who bows down

who keeps it together mostly,

with a curt smile,

the one who knows

who keeps it mostly together,

whispering, “I love you more.”

sharp and cross-eyed,

slow and somber,

second to the one and only one,

mostly keep it together.

prizes when I remain sticky

me in my own way

if you are being sincere,

with the bricks,

the zifts,

it all

if that means that

unnoticed by day

yesterday or last week

Tylenol for kicks.

when greeted with new faces

the mistake of being

the womb with limited guidance,

to jump, swim and move.

my cake with the candles

that I was capable of

your kind of power

the approval of

to smile, say “hello,”

for me

everything in one room,

your teeth shining and

a few friends since then.

friends who were young

but never feel.

friends who were bold

when I was home, sick.

friends who were shallow and sheer

about where I am,

destined to live and breathe

my body through

than be.

than sleep.

burnt dots on my face tonight,

how they got here

if I look weird.

but I think I know

to be there

at your beck and call, gawam!

the guts to make my words

to be your kind of good

around your standards,

mind my expectations.

it distracting that you fire

the thoughts that run down my back

you put this kind of effort

time to leave me be and

that likely makes little sense to you

pale birds of pained wisdom

that you were omnipresent

both as a concept and a construct

lucking my way out

to your old cassettes

smiling from chin to cheek

but have been assured

knowing them by heart

I respond

our kitchen countertop

of business envelopes

back then and today

to sheer romance,

who makes love

who has, quote, been through a lot.

where the keys are,

who covers these loose lashes

woo-y and blue

attending to and aching for

the indulgent arbiter

like unsalted butter

, I think

but I think

the brags,

the laughs,

than cope with

I can finally hear

if my evening lullaby informs

where these words stiffen and smirk

in your universe

to my well-intended goals

what I have done

young in my early years.

looking for opportunities to leap

still fuming

winning the world over

while adorned in plated earrings

solid gray figures

and quickly walk away

under my guise,

silently humming the words

and sweet and kind,

fresh and smooth

like rain on a warm day,

versus where I was

in the form of a question.

the never-ending state

and I don’t have time

since I have not washed my face

why you are upset.

when you call.

but not in real life.

hot and sour,

to cross fires and hold hands

believe it or not.

a set of words

begging me to glue together broken seams

in the folks who sat beside

let me see as

that have accumulated

like a stamp with newborn wings

of a joint resolution

making light of cracked tape

in a bare kitchen sink

that you weren’t okay

with knotted answers

and hiding beneath the couch cushions

and intestinal damage

who sweats blood

to sugar-free acid,

who bumps then nods,

with wavy mirrors,

near the end of each week.

more delicate words tomorrow.

and the fashioner of faux forms.

with a return ticket home.

the silence might be worse.

the slits,

and so on.

what’s left of me.

those two foreign words

me of my worth.

like the walls around us.

then eat the candles too.

despite all of my despites

and draped in worn wool

while dodging eye contact

thinking to myself, so what?

not flinching an inch

ya salaam

like the life that I could see

like the cough syrup that I feared

splish-splashing for hours

two weeks ago.

of being in-between.

to hide them at dawn.

in over a week.

but my mind wears me

and smirk on the slow walk back home.

that only I can comprehend

our dinner guests.

I flex my new wings

near salted wounds

or a sweater that’s coated in mud

and right of due wrongs

of sugary spring water

instead of tears,

who catches the fall

who tinges with regret,

who stands aside a beaming shadow,

the smacks,

you’re alright.

when convenient

for as long as I say

as my actions turn to stone

and touch

but probably needed

then evaporating in due time.

down most days.

and shrink beneath.