I’m looking for something that won’t unravel
like a sweater when I hold it. I’ve tried the
usual, and only end up with wince-worthy
shadows of memories the next morning.
When I go to the beach, the rainstorms
felt like pinpricks on my skin. Even in shadow,
SPF is a useless shield for my burning skin.
But I live where the sun knows no compassion.
I thought I would have more understood.
but I fill my apartment with skeletons,
motivation, and the memories of
almost, bloodshot eyes, and hangovers.
Don’t move too quickly when
you stand next to me. My flinching
can only be explained with stories
that nobody has time to hear.
Life is less the graceful surrender
I assumed. Growing roots down
to the floor, looking for a foundation
that won’t crack without warning.
Please, don’t tell me compliments
or fill the room with silence. I’d
rather not hear myself think today,
or find myself in tomorrow’s texts.