so you asked what it's like in my head:some days i can only speak in lowercaseand maybes. it's like texting; a tailored way of shrinkingeach passive-aggressive detail into something unobtrusive-some days i just want to be unobtrusive,and every statement inhales/exhales quickas a hesitation, like a cannot-make-up-my-mind, like a thing yet to be solid enough to have matter,to matter, and i pull apart each syllable- compelled to dissectmy sentences and take out the guts, suck up the heart,give you the empty skin and keep my vitalssomewhere far away from other hands.some days i force myself with trembling lipsto speak as "I"- I want, I need, I am, thrust myself into a visible sphereand in some ways those are the worst days,because i worry that once seeni cannot take myself back.i don't know why i want so badlyto hide behind blank pages;i can't stop reading manifestos,speeches, novels, comics, tweetsand texts and poetry, holdinghowever briefly t
there are half a billion waysthere are half a billion ways to say i miss you:that i am waiting like the breathless still bodyof an ocean calling back its waves,that i am reaching for you as a sapling stretchesits fingers for sunlight,that i am in the pause before the snowflakeflutters down towards its kin,none of these are true, because my waiting is less beautiful.i am a girl who stays up too late remembering the way your smilecrinkles your eyes, a girl who turns and sighs under the absenceof your grounding arms, just a girl who thinks that of allthe half a billion ways there are to get to where you are,just one would be enough,if i could take it.
nomadmy tongue is a nomadwho runs awaywith all the wordsi could never say
a thing worth keepingthey tell me don't settle. waitfor a girl- some one-she'll let you get awaywith everything you'd like,every flaw left untouchedbecause her fingerscan skim around the hard parts.it'll be easier, they say.it'll be easier than compromise,easier than the woman who sayspush harderwhen i am tired,easier than building bridgesto meet her halfway,easier than carrying the weightof everything i cannot knowand cannot guarantee-she says, i guarantee youhard work.she says, i don't knowmore than that.she's right;it's not the easy thingi could be waiting for,not the thing where i can get awayor the land that needs no bridges-it's not the thing that lets me leave my flawsintact, or the lies strung out like streamerson the walls-it's work. it's sweat and tired and sometimes not knowing how much longerwe can carry this, no guaranteesbut our hands, our heavy hands, still together,still good, and i know one thing:i do not want to settlefor waiting,
weighted down1. I am sixteen, suddenly.I have grown up without anyonetelling me. My car keys rest heavily inmy palm. Each new college I hear aboutrests heavily on my shoulders. I amnot sure how much longer I can take this,all this extra weight of responsibilities, of choices,of the future I’m not sure I want to have.My skin feels stretched across my bodyin places that don’t really make sense.I still feel too big in every bad way—I’mafraid I always will.2. My first boyfriend tells me hethinks I must have bits of theuniverse inside of me. I try notto get offended: I know he means to saythat kissing me is like kissing stars,and that I hold the secrets of creationinside my soul, but all I can think aboutis how huge the universe is.3. He breaks up with me at night.For hours, I lean against my truck inthe driveway and look at the sky.Stars are cold and distant,I realize. The universe is bigand lonely.4. Someone in my philosophy class tries to tell methat