When we met, I told you I was a vagrant drifter
that liked to stand on the edge of cliffs and play catch with the wind
until it heaves me over the tip
and you were the ice and the razor-edged rocks I would land on.
I know that you are not about poetry
that you can't see the wreck between my ribs or the jagged
edges of my heart when I talk to you.
I know that you don't understand that my bones aren't made of barbed wire like yours are
and if you let me unfold in front of you, I am going to turn you into a bandage
I will use to heal up old wounds but make new ones.
I have taught myself
to be reckless in an attempt to avoid feeling weak
But there is glass where my limbs should be
and they will break if you hold them too tightly.
I am not like most people.
When we met, I thought I could crack you like an eggshell
until everything that you were too afraid to tell me would spill out like yolk
but you cracked me instead, and now I am empty.
The long silences now fill up a room the way fire would inside a burning building
and we are being suffocated by it
the torch that ignited it
still sitting in the place where I left it.