Home > Uncategorized > more than just my bones

more than just my bones

I ask for wine
when all I want is rain –
my words twisted
to mean other things, until
I’m unsure of their origins,
until I’m questioning
every angle of my existence –
have I lost weight, again?
Probably. Everything
is shrinking these days.

I wonder if you remember
my middle name –
it is, of course, not
the point of any of this,
it is a symptom
of wanting too much –
isn’t that the first
and last of all my sins?

I was born with a hymn
in my throat, but I learned
how to hold my breath
when the time comes –
I’m not always good
at letting it out,
nothing I ever do is perfect,
and my heart
may be a naked clock,
but it is never absent –
how many hours are left?
I don’t know.

I don’t feel safe enough
to be this fragile, but you know
how awful my timing is,
and all I want is proof
that I matter, that I weigh more
than just my bones –
tell me:
am I really nothing more than glass
blowing light in all directions?

Fear has too many sharp edges,
and I am rounded out
with an unglamorous need –
something is missing
and something else is misunderstood,
and all I want is surrender
somewhere safe –
all I want is to hear you say my name
and feel the word sacred
just once. Perhaps
I am a drought asking
for a hurricane —
perhaps you are the rain.

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