then:

one day i'll be reborn.

into a skin that has never been touched by you,
into a soul that won't remember your name.

i look forward to that.

i hope i'll be a deer in my next life,
or maybe the one after that.

never again do i want to be something as cruel as a human.

we are capable of so much harm,
we cause so much hurt,
i know,
because you hurt me.

there lie the remnants of a body who gave too much.
gaping with emptiness,
too much space between the lines.

are we really that different?
other than the fact that you did and i didn't,
we both have the same skeletal structure
both made of cells, destined to return to dust
both holding within us the same potential to inflict this abstract pain,
effortlessly breaking a psyche like a twig.

we said different words, we did different things
but other than that, you are just as human as me, just as human as anyone.

it could have been me.
i could have done something terrible.
(did i?)
maybe you tell yourself that i did,
so that the way you treated me
doesn't keep you up at night.
(no matter how much sleep I lose,
i can't figure out how i deserved that)
(did i deserve it?)

it's extraordinarily terrifying
holding this capacity for inhumanity in these bodies,
locked in here beside us.
or rather, just as embedded in our souls as anything else.
inescapable.

if it were me, i don't know how i'd keep going.
am i jealous or relieved that i don't have your apathy?

it's sort of funny:
we're the only ones.
only humans are capable of inhumanity.
blessed with free will but cursed by ruthlessness.

i don't think i want to do this again.

i hate that i share a species with you.

i dream of being something incapable of abuse,
something that just exists.

anything but this.

could i be something incapable of abuse?
something that just exists?

i hope next time around i will.
next time around i will.



now:

you broke your finger today,
and it shook me enough to fathom
just how much i love you.
you broke your finger,
and i couldn't care less about anyone or anything else.
that can't be good, can it?
i saw the picture of it twisted around itself,
and damn, i would do anything to untangle your bones.
anything to take away your pain.

the space you take up in my mind is unrivaled.
if i had a car, i'd drive the hundred miles,
just to hold your other hand
while someone we'll never see again
puts the little pieces back together.

there aren't any words
to make sense of how i feel for you.
i love you just doesn't capture the depth.
i guess now i've settled on shitty, messy poems
that don't get much closer.

i'd hold your hand in mine
after your bones are set.
i'd be your cast
for however many weeks.
you'd let me, right?
some would call that rotten work,
but for you, i'd rot,
and i'd smile as i decayed.

the butterflies you put in my stomach
would feed off my flesh like maggots to get out,
and i'd still be holding your hand.
you broke your finger today,
and i'd break all ten of mine
if it meant yours would be okay.

you broke your finger today,
and i will love you until we are nothing,
nothing but bones tangled together,
remembering this moment only from a few faded lines.

i feel hollow and full all at once,
thinking about this inevitable end.
i didn't think i'd ever feel this way,
couldn't imagine i'd yearn to live again.
to see death not as escape from this cursed form,
but rather a version of immortality.

i used to long for that escape,
resenting my existence.
but you look at me,
with my hand enveloped in scarred fingers,
and tell me to stay.
why does it feel like nothing when i say it to my shaky reflection?
it has so much more weight when you say it.

everything changed.