your lips never unlearned her name
as if she had tattooed herself inside your teeth
you dream about her,
cry her name in your sleep
she is the summer rain and
her smile is so quick maybe that is why
it still feels like lightning as it runs up
but you are blackmoon nights
where you chew off your fingernails and
start fights with too much alcohol
to see who winds up empty:
you or the bottle
so you let her go because waterlilies
don’t call deserts like you
he better know the measure
of the girl he wraps his arms around
because oh god oh fuck oh sweet lord
if she is a skyscraper,
you are just dirt
and you will do anything
to make her
the happiest girl
in this world.
Ako te neko izneveri jednom, greska je njegova. Ako te neko izneveri dvaput, greska je tvoja
Da bi osvojio ženu, potrebno je sledeće:
Inteligencija, duhovitost i upornost da je osvojiš.
Novac tu nije bitan.
Ne mešaj lov sa kupovinom.
Nisu sve žene na prodaju.
I once went three weeks without speaking and my parents took it as defiance. I watched the wall for hours and can’t tell you if it was peach or lemon-yellow, or a whole different color. I don’t know how to tell them sometimes I feel so hollow, such a profound absence in my own body. How sadness has traveled up to my throat and all I can do is drown.
I walk around at night when it’s just me and street lamps and find a strange comfort in gluing my body to the pavement like tire tracks, letting the toxic spill out of me like oil into sewer drains. I go to coffee shops and listen to the conversations of strangers. I watch them and wonder if they ever have trouble breathing, if they have the rivers of their veins memorized.
I go for runs around the city the days I’m strong enough to use my muscles. I listen to my bones dismember inside of me and for a second, feel the weight exit me like smoke. I swear I could fly. Instead, my knees dig into the dirt and I start weeping because it hurts. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts. It hurts to pull bullets out of me that are nearly as old as I am.
My mother asks how I can stay in bed for days. I tell her I can’t feel my legs. I tell her I can’t feel anything. My bed feels more like a coffin. She stays quiet and I know some people will never understand. I cut myself open like I’m both the surgeon, and the patient on the table. I let my ghosts crawl out of me like worms and let them breathe. It burns to have them in me, I don’t know who I am when they’re not.