and now you sleep soundly
while i lie, still -
wrapped in insecurity;
would you put
on the fourth digit
of my left hand to
prove that I am yours?
(i never wanted that before.)
or would you sooner
push me six feet down
until dirt creeps inside,
clogs my throat, lungs,
(i don’t want to die anymore.)
i could go for miles, alone.
could walk over sand, brick,
gravel or stone without stumbling
or needing to catch my breath -
but I did not mind your hand when
you offered it, did not mind the
steadiness, the sureness, the you-ness
of your footsteps matching mine.
(but i was never supposed to rely on it.)
please, honey, don’t be surprised when
i cry over you.
even on waters that seem so still
this hurricane girl doesn’t
know how to swim -- alone.