literature

a letter (to the one who falls in love with me)

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Published: Sep 9, 2015

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Literature Text

_{o1.
when i meet you i won't look you in the eye.
i'll talk about myself,
but not really.
i will be an open book with pages glued together
that talks like a patchwork, half-assed quilt made up of allusions to memories
with lies that stitch everything together,
and i leave it for you to cut the threads
and piece together the little black patches of truths
amongst the strings of little white lies.

o2.
i have a warning label
large and red that stretches across my chest
and it reads--"CAUTION: EXTREMELY FLAMMABLE."
i am a summer's day in australia; i am a third-degree burn.
the air of my body and spirit is heavy with the humidity of the tears i (don't) shed.

o3.
you'll find i have an addiction to distraction;
i like to inject words into paper like heroin into my skin.
except the drugs are my thoughts pouring out of my mouth and my mind and my heart unstoppable,
my drug-filled words drain me and leave my bones fragile.
but when i, if iaccept you in i'll let you stream through my bone marrow
like cancer that leaks into my blood veins pumping life into my heart.
i will be in like with you
because in love hurts too much.

i will never trust you with my porcelain bones and thumping glass heart.
i will assume you will discard the flower crown of my affections
because you know it's just a noose,
a ruse to keep you chained to me.
for i know letting you in leads to dire ecchymosis--
where you rupture my silk-thin blood vessels and begin to leak into my tissues--
and it's too difficult to dislodge you, so i'll leave you there
to rest and settle comfortably into the cosy cracks of my heart.

o4.
our tea kettle will constantly whistle for me
and the flavours i drink are as diverse as the people i choose to talk to
because whether it be (they be) green or black or white
oriental, red roobois, herbal
i like them any way
because flavour matters to me more than appearance,
and my thirsty heart always wants more to quench its endless drought of loneliness.

o5.
i'll ask you to take selfies and wait as i take pictures
because i have a thing for taking really bad photographys,
and you'll protest, i know it, but i will beg for you to wait for me
because i am scared, terrified at the idea of losing myself, losing my mind, losing that special "i am i am i am,"
because every bit of them makes every bit of me.

o6.
our home will be crowded.
i collect baggage in black plastic garbage bags and hide them in closets.
depression and anxiety are close friends of mine and will barge in without asking.
they'll add to the clutter.
advocate for my hoarding of things like regret, bad habits, and guilt.
they'll break things without meaning to,
and they'll hurt me although i'll beg them to stop,
and they'll demand more--50 mg then 100 then 200 and
i want to go back to my heroin and teas--flee back to my addictions--
because they feel my emptiness.

o7.
perhaps i feel like i am dead because i am always injecting my life into paper,
and the ink paints my fingertips blue and black
like the contusions on my skin when my foot rests on my knee too long,
or maybe like the contusions on my heart when you rest on my mind too long.

your viole(n)t kisses sting my skin, but i don't mind the electricity you shoot up my spine--
a kiss made of morphine and a touch made of special k.
i don't mind being addicted to you,
after all i am already afflicted with so many cravings;
your touch and kisses won't make much of a difference.

o8.
this letter to the one who falls in love with me
is now to the one i fall in like with
--hopefully it's you--
i don't have religion
but i do have faith in you.

i saw god in your eyes last night
and a thousand constellations in the freckles that lightly dot your skin,
and the words that leave your mouth are the closest i'll ever hear to any kind of holy ghost,

so the so little that i have
i've saved it under my tongue,
under my fingertips that strum the keyboard
just to give it all to you.

o9.
(the tendrils of you creep into my dreams
and wrap around my jumbled mind
in like with you, in like with me
crush, crush'd, crushing still.)}