#yeah-ditto-obvs

SHOULD I????????

between your fingertips you held such a thing as love — sometimes, I forget what I’d say, given half the chance, forego the dance of tongues turned argument for this, a great silence, as wide and wild as the country between us — they asked me, over and over and over, how I felt (you never did) and I was young, and foolish — “i will miss her, but i’m proud,” i said, each time — I wasn’t proud, not yet, not until long after you’d let me fall apart, not until long after I’d begun to pull myself together — thread the needle, a flick of the lips over stubborn stitch after stitch after stitch, and I am proud, now, proud enough to look at you now, and not choke — I used to be afraid of death by wildfire — but it’s not the fire that kills you; it’s the smoke.

I am not fool enough, not yet — with liquor and a wink and a nod, I find myself in the mind to fake it, but no, I’m not, not yet — not fool enough to set and sell myself above whatever brand of hell I have in mind to fear — here, amongst the palms and split streets I find my throat, strong, longer, and shoulders,  yes, broad, and chest, yes, strong, and stomach, yes, strong, and eyes I thought too dark and small to ever be seen, are seen — I am not fool enough to take my hands and make my stand, to shoot against all odds, (shatter ceilings, tempt fate, summon gods) but baring all and staring cold through  this, the mirror over my bathroom  sink, I sink no longer, thinking “strong, now, stronger” — I am not fool enough, not yet, but yet will come, and raise the sun.

this is the best response i’ve gotten

sweetness is false — but then, so, I suppose, am I: priding myself (to anyone who will listen) on endless deceit, receipts in the matter as long as my arm, professional liar in a world where such a profession is held to be pure — horror, then, for me is the glass jar — held aloft in something see-through, something fragile, sharp, clear as the day is long, as the night is short, as my eyes are dark, as my bones are aching, and I lie, and lie, and lie, and it feels better, yes, than heaven, sweeter, oh, than the victory bell, stronger, even, than the pull of hell — my dear, I am dying of thirst — my heart is a glass jar — I bless my chest for its opacity, thank the woven knit of vein and swarthy skin — will I, too, be taken down, set on the counter, filled, thrilled, distilled? my confidence in the  matter is shaken, not stirred, and chilled.

hazy & incandescent — still, you hover above me, lover of tides, sower of dragon's teeth — beneath the burlap of my skin, the corrugated steel of my bones, I, alone, remember — your breath the smoke in my lungs, too sweet to choke, too young in this to be amiss — the gods promised the ichor of living to those who loved — I loved, I loved, I loved — it wasn't enough.

ok but what happened AFTER, meghan

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