Trial by fire. Fire that I try to shape.

But fire isn't meant to be shaped. It's only meant to burn.

This isn't mine. This isn't mine. This isn't mine.

It's yours.

You just want me to carry it for you.

How malleable is too malleable?

I've got everyone else's fingerprints all over my identity.

I can't find my own.

I was turning fabrics inside out; I couldn't stand to see the print.
I was searching for stains and loose threads; I resented the tiniest tear.

Anything to avoid admitting the ugly was me.

Today I dug out our final resting place.

I guess I've been pretty sad.

I used to be pretty and bright, sharp and funny. I used to talk too fast and laugh too loudly. I used to be annoyingly optimistic and at times so passionate I couldn't catch my breath.

Too much water damage. It's really starting to show.

Don't come any closer, I'm now black mold.

I'm riding out the flood and I think I see the peak but where is the dove?

Maybe I'm exhausted by my own strength.

Maybe I want to crumble too.

Maybe I've flown this far off course so that the earth will truly tremble when I touch down.

I can only hope.

Today I carved a headstone.

Echoes of your voice are still tangled in my hair and I swear my waist and thighs are still marked by the pressure of your fingertips.

I've wanted you gone but I think I have to keep you here a little while longer. I hope you'll forgive the inconvenience.

I hope I will too.

Today I built a graveyard.

I guess the hardest part is living the reality I swore I could not. Breathing air and pumping blood when for so long I thought I'd disappear in a snap, leaving nothing but a heap of clothing in the spot where I stood, the moment you stopped loving me.

I guess the hardest part is knowing I live when I so fervently believed I'd die without you.

Of all my open wounds, why is this the one that aches the most?

Why am I tortured by a cut, a sliver when I have spent a lifetime mending much worse all on my own?

Two little freckles on the inside of my right hand

New and unexplained

I like to think they are the result of sun exposure

Because I always stand with palms up

Saying take me, take me

Watch. Your. Mouth.

Soft

but
yet
and
or

brutal.

All. At all times.

I don't want to be this good at letting go.

For once, the horizon and I are one in the same.
For now, I race to close the distance.

Meet me there.

My body dwindles - it wants to disappear. I think I may just let it.

My voice is small, nearly insignificant, but you still strain your ears to listen.

I want to be loud now.

I want to be more than your lesson in having it both ways.