I wanted to tell you
that you weren’t alone,
and that it would get better.
All those things
you’re supposed to say
at three in the morning
when nothing is right.
But I poured you another drink instead.
Somehow you seemed more grateful.
I wanted to tell you
that you weren’t alone,
and that it would get better.
All those things
you’re supposed to say
at three in the morning
when nothing is right.
But I poured you another drink instead.
Somehow you seemed more grateful.
Your lies are
ugly, worn-out,
pieces of paper
I use to sort out
my clustered head.
Would you
tell me one more?
But I never did know
if you were for me
or for everyone else.
Just as I am.
What if we didn’t love the wrong people during the holidays?
What if we let people in, instead of shutting them out?
What if we realized how messed up the world is? Even at this very moment?
Would our fridge still be full of food we are not going to finish?
Would you tell me that it didn’t matter?
Would you tell me that everything is going to be alright?
Would you believe it?
What if you asked a stranger “how are you?”?
What if they told you they weren’t alright?
What if you asked a friend?
What if they told you they are alright, but you know better?
What if you asked me?
What if, even with a cross around my neck, I told you I’m not?
“It’s not your responsibility.”, my mother tells me as I talk to him at one o’clock in the morning, trying to calm him down in an anxiety attack.
“We’re just talking”, I say.
“Do you feel responsible?” my grandfather asks, watching me tap my fingers repeatedly on the table after hanging up.
“I’m just making sure he gets his medicine.”, I say.
Am I doing something wrong? Am I missing something? Isn’t our job in this world to see one another, take care of one another?
I just don’t know.
It is not my responsibility, but if I don’t do it, I am not sure he will survive.
What I did know,
truly and fully,
was him next to me,
his face against my own.
The music he was listening to was
way too loud,
leaking through his headphones,
and I was happy.
I guess
I wanted to believe
for once
that would be enough.
Because the leaves were all changing
and the traffic kept rushing.
And I was still stuck in the way his eyes shone,
whenever he laughed.
They really got to you, didn’t they?
Pushing you on towards the edges
tore apart your broken mind.
Now all you hear is chaos,
a beating drum within the ground.
Step in here, darling,
come in close, and closer still.
In you there is a fire,
and I won’t let this one be still.
Come on now, stand before me,
stretch your arms towards the sky.
I’ll stay here, yes, right behind you.
Take the step, you’ll be alright.
A wind came along hurling words in my mind,
now I’m drumming the pen on the paper.
Scared of what now may leak if I get it all out,
so I get up and out and I run.
I fall in love with pieces,
smaller pieces of their being
perks and quirks and qualities
I’m scared the world is still not seeing.
Like the way he sang along to songs
he’d never before heard.
Or the way that he knew everything,
then cried in my arms at night.
Or how he saw me beautiful
when no one else could do it.