mal

the urge to fix every collar of every boys shirt, and the fear of knowing it could mean anything more to them

you can substitute certainty with fleeting passion. you can substitute connection with reused phrases. you can substitute vulnerability with movie scenes.

i don’t know where you’ve gone. don’t know how you could hate yourself into the position you’re in. let’s be three, holding hands in the creek. find bugs, and snakes, and scrape our knees. you’re afraid. i’m right here. unmoving.

in youth cowboy boots, i think there’s a life i could live. she wouldn’t look like you, because she isn’t. maybe we babysit, and i find someone to read my favorite bedtime stories to. maybe we leave hand in hand, and we wonder, but we know it’s enough for us. we’ll go home and pretend to try for one anyway.

i think it’s him. i wonder how long i could pretend it’s you. wonder if i could ever rebrand the poetry, slip the letters into another envelope. i wonder if i could beat myself blue until i fit your shape, but it’s him. it’s always going to be him.

i love you cowboy, i love you sailor.

i couldn’t pay her off. i don’t try to talk. decades teach me it’s too late. how does she apologize? could i mirror it? i’d have to disappear.

i cannot live with her. too loud, too incessant. i cannot make the floorboards creak. i cannot paint the walls. i’m immobile like i haven’t been in years and i remember the stagnant life i used to live. the silent existence i was allowed. i cannot eat, cannot drink. i cannot come down from the tower. she dictates the land untouched. i cannot breathe too loud. i don’t breathe at all.

teeth. i’ve never had that dream. i live it now, the loss of control. watching as it all falls apart, helpless. the taste of blood.

i watch movies that don’t fill the screen and i can feel the air in your caravan. i can hear the vcr whir.