whatever doesn’t kill you makes you stronger
they say.
I don’t feel strong.
if I were the best version of myself
I’d be grateful for you
your memories arcing darkly, coldly
between these pieces I gather and fumble
and arrange in ugly patterns.
but what would I give up
to be hopeful?
to be open?
to be whole?
the frenetic dance parties
in your living room
laughing
spinning
into a heaving pile on the floor.
the late nights of
pontifications and guitar solos
weaving in between wafts of smoke
prying myself wide-open
bare.
playing pinball
at the bus station
softly ripe
my fingers digging playfully
under the gap in your pants.
cackling at your dark jokes
gasping at your bloody stories
gleefully, vapidly
playing “boy’s games”
just to be near you.
sometimes I get it.
the things you give up
the bits that burn, die, and fall off.
you evolve into something else.
niether better nor worse.
just wiser.
but what would I give to have her back?
to unbite that apple?
to gleam with possibility?
to believe in the possibility of others?
I might pry those moments out
throw them into the abyss.
I might be willing
to never have met you at all.