Dearling

i write because there's a feeling in my belly like air that's done too many drugs, air but with letters, a and b and e f g's not chords like guitars but chords like heart tendons and if you don't find a way to make this into words the breaths of your lungs dissipate, the lives in your life evaporate.  you were never singing, you were never loved, your fingers never made a sound. let's try this one more time. if i said i hated you its because i have no off button, if i said i hated you it's because the sand in my hourglass-heart called out our names, bravery it yells and i don't care, i don't care how loud the world wants to say it i don't have the right color blood, the timing is off. i wrote you a letter and put it in the mailbox, it said have you ever read by candlelight? it said, do you, can you read my candleslights? i wrote dear you: if i was made of fire could you keep me lit? everyday the mailman looks at me and his eyes say "nothing yet" his eyes were the rejection letters from colleges i would've been too afraid to go to. this is how i love you.

2 comments:

Carolyn said...

this is beautiful. i randomly found your blog through another one, and i think i have to read it all now because it's transfixing. also- i read your music and book tastes and they're basically the same as mine. this made my day

KERRY said...

thank you so much, that means a lot. :)