i don't need nobody

and i don't fear nobody.

and i don't call nobody but you.

((nothing mine.))

thirty-nine thousand, four hundred eleven

when she waits for you

in the dark,

she wraps her arms around herself

fingers pressing into

the concave places between ribs.

she pretends her fingers

are yours,

counting. 

she curls into herself

when the sun starts to rise.

there is no beauty in it.

broken as heloise

cold convents and unreturned love letters.

i worry constantly

that i'm not half as good as everyone thinks i am.

in utero

mama cried for days when you left

the ash faded, but 

the trails from her nails stayed,

lingering.

she still cooks supper for three

when she only eats for two

and the left over food is always

a dull ache

low in the pit
of her stomach.

where you were. where i am. 

rouhi.

you were my beautiful mistake

pomegranate juice tasted like

love on your fingertips

i played music across your spine

sweet harmonies in soft sheets

your fingers in my hair 

made the bass

sliding, sliding

tripping. falling.

silent music aches

in your ears once it's gone.

you were such a beautiful mistake.

here i am

this is me.

look at me.

here i am.

((actually mine again.))