Dear one day,
My hips are turning into tidal waves, dreams of what my bones can no longer live up to– expectations, drenched in stardust, longing, expectations, too high for my hands to reach. There are oceans inside my throat [maybe that’s the reason my words feel like they’re drowning me]
I found your sweater behind my bed-frame and I can’t stop thinking about how quietly you stormed out of here. I know Tuesday’s arms never fit quite so well around my ribcage, but ever since he left any hands will feel warmer than what he left me with[out]
I’ve yet to tell you how your absence left me with a silent throat more times than it didn’t–
I’ve yet to tell you how my heart and I no longer speak,
she told me I still need you so we went our separate ways.
Home is foggy and my bones feel like winter is hiding somewhere between their cracks and bruises.
I confided in the sky in your mouth, thinking the clouds between your teeth were a safe place to rest; I should have known better.
The sting of my scraped knee caps and splintered finger tips feel like home, compared to what home, feels like.