black holes aren't necessarily unproductive

I would look down to see they had grown two sizes too large, tingling, numb, excruciatingly heavy. In response, I shut my eyes tight to will them away only to be met with visions of flying past purple galaxies, never being able to choose where to land while hearing voices disconnected from heads screaming, yelling, yearning.

What about the vastness induced nausea?

A world too big, problems too intricate, trauma too complex, evil too insidious.

Why did my six year old body react so violently to the unfinished?

When did I learn to be able to walk away?

“This is how far I can stretch my hands!” I yell back to them.

This is me dropping everything I cannot reach.

This is me afraid of making the reach and wielding the power.

This me afraid of achievable heights.

Maybe these oversized hands were a gift to hold as many comrades as I could bear - to shield in misfortune? To lift in danger? To hold steady in chaos.

(Who holds me?)

This is as far as I can reach. This is as much as I can do.

But to rise the cancer to surface, I’ll climb the theater stairs once more in ceremony.

How has your face faded to just eyes? Why do I not recoil but reach?

To watch this horror film is to relive the day I left the coffee shop on repeat like I have for some many years but this time my eyes are taped open while my tears collect in minuscule pools on the slivers and shards of broken glass reflecting all of our lost futures. This is one last indulgence.

In the morning, I will report clean margins but tonight I’m engulfed in crumbs of what could have been but is not; what should have been but will not. Tonight I will slice off each goosebump that stands in reaction to your breathe left on my neck, between my thighs. The buttons of blood will scab over and that will be all that is left of this destruction. This is self mutilation but I see only beauty as I stand in front of the mirror in affirmation that extinguished hope, no, faith, was the only course of action.

I’ve left San Francisco to find myself on the corner of Third and Sahuara. It was only a 10 stair journey.

Never really noticed it until it was my foot on the pedal - the view from her window. Through security rods the color was out of place within the tangles of palo verdes.

Stop. Look both ways.

I’ve looked. I saw no passerby.

But I can’t shake this weight that there might be another around the corner. Stop.

I’ll just keep waiting. Keep checking.

Can never be too safe?

Hit the pedal. Look left. Break. Near collision. Stop.

I’ll just wait some more.

I’ll just stare at the sign until I feel safe.

I sat down to write you a poem, to tell you that you feel like home; to tell you that my heart beats the clearest laying in bed next to yours.

But, it feels futile to even attempt to wield words when everything sounds better emerging from your mouth. 

If I could consolidate all of your future pain, sadness and compress it into a mass, I would carry It for you. My intention - to shield, to lift. 

Your breath has slowed and I’m trapped. 

My body is finally safe but my mind is screaming run. 

I’m memorizing your face for a sketch artist - attached earlobes, monolids. The distance from top lip to nose? About half an inch. 

I love you with my whole being; I feel empty. 

I wonder what the next girl you fuck will think about the posters on your wall. Will she analyze your bookshelf? I did last night. The book I bought you for Christmas looks like a good choice. 

//

Sometimes when men stare at me on the street, I stare back just to remember what It feels like to be longed for. Sometimes I want to break your heart so that you’ll finally understand what It feels like every time I close my eyes.

I want to marry you. I want you to wake me up with pancakes and a sunflower every morning. I want to destroy you. 

Let’s have an affair at 45. Let’s cry together when we drop him off at college. 

//

My arm is asleep but I notice your body melding into mine. I’m not sure I could stand without your support; I’m not sure I can survive under your weight anymore. 

I haven’t felt this safe in weeks; I’m terrified.

Our chests mashed together, I can’t decipher our heartbeats. Mine has slowed to yours. 

I’m so happy I cry; I’m crying because this will never be enough for me. 

You kissed me once before falling asleep. This will propel me through the week. I’ll survive on this intimacy. 

//

I lost a love;

I lost futures.

I lost my touchstone -

a nest intertwined with delicate violets, caramel, tea bags.

I lost many teachers, a few friends.

I lost my mind a few times when it escaped home to the desert. Dried itself out in a summer sun only to return an empty shell. It came back more comfortable but colors were less vivid. Joy less illuminating.

I can’t find anymore goosebumps. They used to radiate through my body. It used to remind what it meant to trust. They used to allow me to feel vulnerable.

I lost things before I even knew their value; before I could walk; before I even got a chance to say hello.

Strangers have all my change.

I’ve excavated my body to remove all the pain.

I operated. I can report clean margins.

//

I wish I could consolidate all your future pain into one night. I want to look at you and feel comfort. I look at you and all I see is the hurt you’ve yet to feel.

I’ll Compress It. Box It. Toss It.

Don’t worry. You don’t need return to the favor. I’ve already done the same for myself. This relationship is not reciprocal.

The deaths. The loss. The emptiness.

I’ll hold these for the both of us.