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it's almost the witching hour.
i thought the days would stop coming but they just keep banging on the door.
wait, wait i'm sorry okay, about everything, about bruisky knees and wrists and forearms. but i don't think they are sorry enough so i'll have to talk to them about that later, definitely i will. wait. i'm sorry that when we were little home was an infinite amount of different colored construction paper you could use to create whatever you felt like creating and then out of nowhere home was the sound that the construction paper makes when you rip it. i'm sorry for the tiny shredded hairs growing from the torn fabric edge, tiny tiny broken fingers, calling.

okay and sorry for the ways that i sleep and don't sleep. that sometimes when i do my knees curl up, pressing into you. i'm sorry i do not see the sun and i am sorry the sun does not see me. also i am sorry for the time i wrote my name on your neck with permanent marker which made you mad and how that made me feel the opposite of permanent and forever very far away from your neck. too many poems too many sorrys too many poems about being sorry. the other night the one kid that knows a lot about too many sorrys and far away necks and how my heart works asked me if the edges were my favorite and i said yes. but favorite is not the right word. i only meant its all i know, since always.
i'm sorry. wait.
everything makes me panic, i can't stomach the planet.
i have done something to time and now it's gone. it left with a sound, sort of a "swoooshh" and now reality is not touching me, it doesn't want to, i don't want to, and now things outside of me are breaking. i'm so sorry, i said, but tell me how do we unlearn?  how do we unlearn?

2 comments:

Len said...

love it.
how long did it take you to write this?

Kerry Giangrande said...

thanks, you. this one was fast. my favorites usually are.