geography

i want to draw the memories out on that map i found in the glovebox as we drive. mark out the places we’ll go, and the people we’ll meet. and i know it hasn’t happened yet, but just promise we’ll get there, someday, no matter what.

because we’re gonna light up lanterns, i’m sure we will, and write wishes on the tissue-paper sides. and i’ll have a job, and i’ll hate it, but in that way you can ignore when you come home, so it’s fine. i’ll stop being so tired, all the fucking time, fazed by the slightest disaster.

but for now, i pin out contingencies across the dash, and buy myself a bath bomb off etsy. because i don’t know anything about the world, but i want to learn. walk along the old path, all alone, and don’t stumble like you used to. preserve the snapped twigs and press the crocus petals in your favourite book, so you’ll always remember the day you looked down over the abyss, and chose not to jump into it.

i’ll take the long way home, and carve out a path along hiking trails and highways, all of my own. trace the geography of broken promises along my collarbone, and try not to dance on the walk home, a smile breaking out across my cheeks despite it all. despite myself. feel the bruises, and scrapes, and scars, the way my thighs touch, and just let them fucking exist.

not a failed lesson, not the answer to the question, not some holy sin. this is home, this is my body, and i think i’m learning that. ever-so-slowly.

shoulders

i think today is going to be a good day. as my shoulders fall, and the wind blows through my hair. i think i’m gonna be okay.

i think i’m gonna close my eyes, and lift my head toward the sky. i think the sunlight will shine on my cheeks, and i will feel beautiful just as i am. today.

i think i’m gonna lie down on the grass, and let myself just breathe. and maybe tomorrow, the darkness will fall. maybe tomorrow, the clouds will bring me to my knees. but right now, none of that matters.

right now, i’m free.


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and maybe this matters or something

for flora

and i’m not saying i’m there yet. i’m just saying… you wrote me a poem. you wrote me a goddamn poem, saying my poetry meant something to you. saying all the empty messages and desperate mixed signals actually got through. and honestly, even now, it’s hard to even believe that’s true. even though it is true. even though this is true. and this is mine. and this is real. and i’m not saying that this is it. i’m not saying that suddenly, with something you’ve written, my entire world is fixed. i’m just saying maybe someone cares or something. maybe i’m worth something. maybe there’s hope for me. and maybe someone would listen, if i grabbed a megaphone, and raised my voice a little louder, and a little louder, and maybe if i screamed up at the sky, people wouldn’t just call it mindless chatter. and maybe… maybe i have a chance. maybe we have a chance. and maybe… maybe we’re not alone in this. and maybe that means something. and maybe what i’m doing… what we’re doing… maybe, maybe, maybe matters. or something.


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a night spent looking at the stars

so it’s almost pitch dark, right? and it’s only 9p.m. but apparently by some people’s standards that actually qualifies as late at night. and the city lights flicker and dance in the starlight. and i don’t even know where we are. and i don’t know what’s out there, but i’m not sure i care. because right now, beside you, everything feels beautiful. and maybe that’s enough. to try my best to be your friend. and feel like a book character. and roll down the hill in your grandparents’ backyard together. and not know how to stop. and not want to stop. and never want to stop. because maybe this is what it feels like to be happy, and alive, and weightless, for the first time. maybe this is the metal i will mould into a sword as darkness falls. and as my heart pounds. and maybe this time, we’ll be the army against all the painful memories pouncing on these broken bodies. and maybe i can’t keep you safe from the world, but i can listen. and care. and i can write you happy poetry, just to let you know how much you mean to me. and for what it’s worth, in this moment, i am more than my broken pieces. i am caffeine and stardust. and i am someone who matters to you. someone who is wanted by you. and someone who finally realizes that it can be completely platonic and still mean the world to you. and i am someone who tries. and i am someone who is here. and maybe that’s enough. to be this person who a year ago, i would never have thought could have existed. and to feel like a miracle.


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