My heart used to beat fast and hard,
threatening to break through the cage of my ribs.
When you touched me it would be like there were Pop Rocks in my bloodstream,
like I just couldn’t quite catch my breath,
like I was falling and would never hit the ground.

My emotion is rare, beneath layer upon layer of my artifice.
I don’t feel much, don’t like to feel much.
You, like art, are meant to be beautiful, meant to cause emotion, meant to mean something.
You made me feel alive.
It was frightening.
It was exhilarating.
When did I fall in love with what I fear?

My father always told me it wasn’t falling that hurt --
it was the sudden stop.
I thought the earth would yield beneath us,
but as I burnt up in the atmosphere
I had my doubts.
When I hit the ground
the sudden stop seemed a mercy
in spite of
broken bones,
broken hearts,
spilled blood and tears.