Here is a poem about love. (Are you surprised? Are you reeling in shock? No - you are a romantic, after all, otherwise you wouldn't still be here listening to my ridiculous, sentimental words. Thank you, by the way, for that.)
It is also a poem about destruction & sadness & waiting & mythos. And it is a poem about healing. And music. All things, after all, are about music.
Today I stayed home from school because my hyperacusis was so bad. It is the first time I have done that in awhile, and I am slightly sad about it, to be honest. But while I was here I wrote you a poem. I am not sure yet whether I like it, but I hope you do.
As always, I would so love to hear your thoughts.
And please have a beautiful weekend. I think you deserve that.
And I could’ve kissed you. Right there, you with that dance and me with the look on my face that says goddamn. Who knew people could be sunlight.
Add that to the things I’ve learned while trying and failing to wrestle this year into submission: one, a body is a prayer, not a temple. two, is it really so selfish to want to be the one thing you’ll never say out loud? three, the closet/the humming box/the things that come out of both of them. four, yes, you idiot, of course I’m in love with you.
How many times do I have to tell you before you pick up the goddamn phone?
So me, I’m over here choking myself to sleep and you, you’re busy kissing all the tornadoes in Kansas good night. Like there’s anything more mutual than waiting. Like there’s anything left, except for maybe everything.
Telephone cord dangling like something burnt to death, the closet/the humming box/the things that are best left closed.
Me with the look on my face that says goddamn. It’s been a long year.
Me with the look on my face that says goddamn. Just look at that,
darling. Just look at you dance.