Monday, May 25

Poem Twelve...

You’re a pack rat, you say?
No shit.
It was fine at first when I started noticing these things.
In my imagination, you’d creep around, collecting trinkets and bobbles and useless nothings and tuck them away
Deep into the secret pockets of your school bag.
I even thought it was kind of cute.
So I indulged you and stole your yellow power ranger pencil top
And tried the whole hoarding deal myself, if only to belong.

But then one day, you told me you wouldn’t give me Chino,
Not because you had a bond with him, a bond only realized between a boy and his hamster,
(We both know that you don’t even like him)
But because you couldn’t stand to see anyone else with him.

That’s when it stopped being cute.
Not because I wanted your hamster---well, partly.
But mostly because I realized how dangerous you are.

I run our scenes in my mind through constant replay.
We play in black and white, sitting under trees, you covered in grass, me laughing
We play in color, on rainy days, you drenched, me skipping.
I hear the sound of your voice, and every ion and atom in this string of limbs is called back to life.
I start to think that maybe, just maybe, I’ve made the final home stretch to planet crazy,
Because all I can think of is leaning in just a little closer
Let the blushing virgins bend as the cosmic happenings have done
To offer us this moment.

But it’s not all my fault.
It takes two to win a heart, and one to break it.
The math doesn’t add up, and I must have screwed up the calculations
Somewhere in between endless conversations
And the moment I first realized I was in love and you weren’t.

You take my heart in your hand and hold me at an arms length.
Envelope me in your scent to give me false hope of a broken prophecy.
You build me up with promises you never meant to make
And I look into your sad eyes and I can’t tell you how many times
I had to keep the floods from pouring from my lids,
Because the world knows I am a strong woman and you can not hurt me,
Even though you do.

You are a pack rat,
Hoarder of shit.
Keeper of secrets and holder of my heart.
I just wish you’d take better care of these things.

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