The thing is...

i do not know how to not be this loud.

how to sit back and laugh like my tongue is dipped in cherries and honey

how to shut up and bite my tongue even when i should

i do not know how to stop halfway, how to back away from things that are not mine

i do not know how to not claim territory, 

i feel like no matter how loud i am people don't hear me

i do not know how to pretend that you haven't hurt me

i do not know how to make you love me.

i want to be a safe place for you

but i do not know how to dim this fierce thing i feel

you bring out all the sharp places in me, 

and i do not mean to constantly draw blood when you come to me for safety

i do not know how to be this person you want me to be

i do not know how to simmer.

this thing between us is cheap and vulgar but i fully bought into it knowing that

i stumbled upon you with hands covered in sin and alcohol

i wasn't expecting anything holy.

and i stay when you tell me that she's the well you have to drink from or you'd die of thirst

and i'm the desert.

i stay when you come to me with blindfolds and ease

i stay because you make my spine throb on your good days

and i stay because i wake up choked in tears on your bad days

and either way, at least you make me feel something

i stay because to stay stimulated even when i have no stomach for it, even when i want to crumble every time you reach for me makes me feel alive.

after my fifth glass of cheap wine

i forget that i can still taste her on your lips

i pretend that this thing is real and special

i can only love you when i'm drunk

only in the dark,

only on nights when i need to burrow into flesh

the thing is,

i stay because i cannot leave.

because where would i start picking up the pieces of your life you have left all over my couch?

which cities would i have to start avoiding?

i envy those women,

who smell like cinnamon and never settle for less.

i stay because secretly, i want to break your heart

i want to plant mines under your skin 

that i hope your future lovers find.

The thing is,

by God, i'm so tired of writing about you

and all the ways i'm breaking my own heart.

leggy.