We sit across the table with three feet and a half-filled bottle of wine
Between us so we can make deep and meaningful eye-contact as
We lie to each other’s faces. You laugh and tell me about a
Sexy girl at work as I look for truth written in between the creases of
Your fingers circling an empty glass of wine. As you run your foot
Against mine, I erect walls between my mind and the sense receptors of
My skin so that I cannot mistake an accidental brush of flesh for love.
I’ll mistake strength with
Being able to quell the silent insanity that comes with having a
Desperately beating heart. I will ask myself not to need, but
My flesh doesn’t understand how.
When it’s late at night and
Our thighs are pressed up against each other, I’ll reach out to touch
Your face to prove that I’m not stuck behind the glass walls of
An unrequited love.
When you flinch instead of
Trying to touch me back, I will let myself slip into the creases of
Your skin until I’m hidden inside your bones.
You won’t know when
You have broken me. You will never understand the
Difference between slipping through my arms and falling
Into the depths of my heart.
As a child I always had nightmares of someone removing my heart
and replacing it with a broken shadow box.
No matter how hard I tried to fill its shelves with the trinkets of my childhood-
gravel, honey, scissors, torn pockets-
the shelves emptied themselves as soon as I filled them.
It’s the same with you. I try to remove you from my mind,
spill you from the cavities buried deep in my eye teeth,
but you’re always there, a city pushing its metal ridges through my skin.
There are anchors in my eyes when I look at you.
No one else has dragged me down the way you do.
I’ve been walking the tightrope between in love and over it
for so long that I’m not even sure which side I want to fall off of anymore.
I guess whichever one involves a softer landing.
But the thing is, even your laugh shakes me to the core.
I’ve been burning long before you knew me.
My stomach doesn’t just get butterflies when I see you;
it fills with a flurry of bats flapping their wings so hard
that the sound of flight tears holes in my inner lining.
I wish you could see me, but that would involve a magnifying glass.
In my dreams I swallow your hipbones whole-
right before I wake up, the archaeologists come to remove you
from my windpipe like a dinosaur skeleton, but every bone is rusted
because I’ve spent a lifetime learning how to oxidize you.
I decided I would finally make an unbiased (well biased by my perspective, but not biased by my emotions) post about how I feel about college.
Hmm, maybe I’ll go back and add more later, but these are a few.
I’m sorry I never answered this, but I honestly didn’t see it. I don’t keep handwritten journals like I used to, but I wish I did.