I Don’t Know Where This Path Will Lead

heart tendons wrapped like computer chords
dusty and tangled in too many directions
i forgot i could have just reached for your hand
instead of offering up myself entirely

i want ink on my skin to tell my story
and my dad asks me why
i tell him it is because i am happy sometimes
i think it is because i am sad but more times than these
handfuls of moments of clarity
i think it is because my voice is hoarse
from screaming that things have been just fine
i want to prove it
instead of wearing myself thin

i want scratches on paper to tell my story
and i ask myself why
i dont show anyone half the things i write
i tell myself it is because it is for me
i lie constantly
it is because i am afraid of words and phrases and rivers
of things that i cannot explain
i want to nourish you with water
but sometimes i fear that i am poison

i stand
quietly torn between turning the valve inside of me
and forcing myself to stop or writing until
i feel old and dry and shriveled up
i really have no story to tell
until half the things ive written are laced in with
the things i have yet to write
where chains and freedom
fear and bravery all feel the same
because i have the heart to tell my story
because the words make sense

i will nosedive off the cliff this time
i wont crash my car
i will only think about it ten times before i brake slowly
drive the speed limit and always use my turn signal

i can feel you tugging at me in my heart my stomach
my legs somewhere
i can feel the friends i left behind the ones that i stepped on
as they kicked at me i can feel the friends
i left behind because silence was easier than explanations because
darkness permeates deeper than light reaches
because i am selfish
because i am sorry
and i can feel you pull me

i will cut my heart from my chest and leave it on a doorstep
an orphaned child it wont need a blanket
it likes the chill
i will build myself a robot heart that i wont give to anyone
and i will
never feel your pull again


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