mi miedo

322 27 9
                                    

the cycle of not letting go looks like this:

hair knotted atop my head / your fingers pressing

into my shoulders to release the tension building into them like river stones settling into my stomach / a tired smile

from tired eyes from my eyes as you drift from room to room

collecting my disaster of tears that have created mildew in our bedroom. green eyes locked into brown eyes and the beginning of a nasty whisper in my ear

telling me to look away / your eyes are windows i try not to break but the longer we live in this domesticity the more i feel a cage has been constructed

around my limbs / and loving you begins to feel as tedious as collecting broken glass

off the floor with bare hands shredded with paper cuts


soft hums lingering in the pillow of hair that fans across your face . it always seems to end like this . words shouted &

fists clenched & teeth gnashing & tears spilled &

no one backing down - no one saying sorry - no one no one no one . and i retreat to a place in my head where you cannot see me

shaking . don't leave me . i don't tell you . i'm sorry . and i find you in our room with a pillow to your face

and you look so tired hunched over and oh what have i done to make you like this . what have we done

to each other ? and we fall into it

again

this time hands replacing words & whispers replacing yells &

mouths teeth saliva gasps until we  r e a c h  this echo where nothing can hurt us . not even

me .


the night of the new moon you find my side of the bed empty and wonder where I've gone 

    where did the foundation break this time  and you wander the room telling yourself i will be back soon 

      that i will be there and we will fight with our teeth biting into our bottom lips 

        and i will wake up with my hair atop my head 

          you will kiss my shoulder blade and find my fingers playing with a bottom on your shirt  and we will fall again into a pattern of fighting me 

you convince yourself i will be there 

  that i would collect myself off the floor of wherever i was and bury myself in your arms 

    but my keys are still on the table and my favorite yellow sweater is no longer in the closet 

           you wonder why you stay with a wild bird and all i can say is i don't know


like clockwork i come  h o m e 

torn and bitter and pleading

we fall into this again

when we next wake up my hear is atop my head

your fingers on my shoulders

and we rinse and  r e p e a t



@skytaints because her latest update and style of formatting and overall AMAZING POETRY has made me remember why i write. thank you, you beautiful angel!

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