I want Azalea to feel like you,
but it feels like something else.
you want to hold me so close
without putting a finger on my body,
as if the past strung up your paralysis
and froze your emotions in place,
catching them before they could reach you too deep
in the place you were too scared to be.
the kind of stability
fluent in all the correct tax write offs, the weekly paycheck
that doesn't look at you with barely 21 years,
boundless youth lost in stevie's vision in our minds
as if you cannot reconcile the idea
of me being anything but.
and like clockwork
the young women come and go,
telling me on the way out
I have merely been on rotation.
I know them,
the kinds of sentimental scars others can't see
that built the wall around your heart chamber
so nobody can reach inside.
men in violation,
anger always turning to fury,
deprecation that knocks on every window,
medications forgotten this morning ,
plunging too deep in the art pond and the sacrifice to be able to come out,
anxious that at any moment I will lose my agency just trying to fight the current.
But that is precisely the thing.
I think about you like that water
but also like you can never settle on a choice
without falling victim to the rest that challenges it,
that fear is a risk you can’t trust yourself to take,
that you had lied through your teeth
about our evenings that could have been,
every hesitation that let me live on, hanging by a single thread in your head,
to dispose of your patterns once and for all.
I want you to run
when you want to walk,
feeling the weight of cryptic feelings
cast over boxes and boxes of memories you would not like to face,
letting them beat lethargy into the ground with your step,
strings tangling and accumulating behind your feet.
As if I can’t see how much it wears you out -
that whenever you look at me
and feel the alarms go off,
feel those hidden crates tumbling off the walls like earthquakes,
shaking the world you know to pieces,
reverberating the coldest kind of panic -
urgency must scramble to shut all your doors
and drop down your blinds
for the glory of the safe and intact.
The intuitive need
to push me away.
I hope it's fun telling your friends
who have wondered where I've gone,
“what happened to her?”
like I have been lost to the world -
and you can now safely say
she never really got under your skin
All I can wish now
is that if not with me,
then someone else,
will remind you again why we take off sprinting,
letting the wind and the veins rush their way
with the keys to the hidden boxes -
to the safe place,
the still pond,
that opens your heart
like blossoming azalea in the spring