You are the gasp of air you take
before you jump off the worn-out dock
and land in the lake, a cool touch to your boiling skin.
You are getting home after Thanksgiving dinner
where you take off your pants
and slip into that ripped oversized sweater
you can't seem to get rid of.
You are Lexapro swallowing
the depression I've had since
the age of 10.
But they are clean socks
before I step into pee
my cat left on the kitchen floor.
They are the hair tie around
my wrist, frayed and hanging
on by a thread, about to snap.
They are that perfect summer day
I spend outside, only
to end up with sun poisoning.
YOU ARE READING
AS if i would write about you
Poetrywould you read it? A collection of poems about (mainly) one person making me feel heartache, growth, love, confusion, jealousy, toxicity, and vulnerability. I made the story gender-neutral, in hopes to broaden the horizon and to spread inclusivity...
