Your white noise
There is nothing left to say but to
name the slim shavings of my
anxiety, cut from a slab that used to sit on my chest.
in my tidy room, I discover
self, accumulated. a foundation that
does not disappear —
hundreds of choices, thousands,
millions. I have already made them. I
am here, I was here, I am here.
You cannot dispute me.
I, was, here.
You are for show.
This is how I know to love: picking
up stories like clovers,
pressing them between your pages. Crushing
the layers of your emotion into my tea, stirring
them inside the stillest part of me.
I will forget you inch by inch and all
at once, I will force you from my stomach
up my throat and out of my body. quietly.
I hope you find your own explosions. I have found mine.
Your tears meet me at my open door
and I leave my body for a minute,
searching for the borders of my
All of it cut like a movie scene I
should’ve seen coming.
I made sure the water would run in silence,
made sure I could hear myself think
while the traces of vinegar made their
way into the cracks in the soles of my
feet. Made sure you were ashore
before I pushed off, made sure you couldn’t
love me before I broke down.
The day passes and it is well lived. I
lose myself in the mundane, rock on the balls of my feet and yell, yell — I am alive.