i’m jealous of
and of your sheets
i want to hear
the sound of
You started telling me
from the day we met
that I was made of all the things
that made you weak.
I never wanted to be
I wanted to be all
of the things that made you
I am not a poem.
There are no rhyming couplets
or sonnets in my blood. My veins
might have collapsed but not like
lovers falling into bed. I am a field
of wildflowers on fire. I am the feeling
of falling in a dream, the pull of imagined
gravity. I am the combination of a thousand
hungers painted on and on, until it blends to
a single, nameless shade. I am trying to get better
but I will never be a poem.
I’m not poetic enough to think of
us like comrades but I am poetic enough
to feel like we are.
We found each other at the worst possible time.
I am using you as sand to bury me, bury all the hopes
and wishes I had for him. You are using me as a silver
comparison to hold up to her and say,…
“I’m not human enough. I’m like some detached being that feeds on isolation. But we don’t just need to eat. So I’m malnourished.”
Sometimes people say wonderful things.