surprisingly,
i am sorry about some things.
i am sorry i never told you
about how you had so underhandedly stabbed me
better, wasn't it,
just to break it off like a wishbone
to retire from my blood-born duty
and hope that the next person i met would be nothing like you
i cut you out
like a dying organ, cancer,
selfish, in a way it is, i
admit.


if only
i didn't know you so well,
if only i didn't know
each rise and fall of your soft-clothed chest
like a small gathering of soul sisters
lying in your room, the sound of you and i
asleep


you liked your worn men's t-shirts and
our first poison of choice was candy and brownies
i remember the dawn stifled by huge childhood curtains on
one long side of your recluse wall
i felt so safe
i was so hunted
you were the first, but the question is,
will you be the last?


if only you had not
stood for everything i was taught, thought to not be
you were my raw talent, rubbed away by the tide
you could have been everything, my love,
i could have taken you by the shoulders,
lifted you up, but you
overpowered us both,
and now this dark spot inside me won't wash off, won't
ever see to the day when you
are not here by my side.


surprisingly,
i wear your jacket most days,
and nearly feel your ribcage knocking against mine
you are
always a part of me, you too like my father
shaped me, turned me uglier—
thank you.