a wednesday evening at 11:30.
lighting candles and reading poetry
i forgot what it had meant to be myself in so long.
angels are here
“there is freedom in forgetting”
to be excited about something.
the soft towels and the iced tea
to be sleeping again,
to be hopeful again,
to be breathing again.
it’s white jasmine that’s burning
re-reading old love letters
a book dedicated to you, you, and you.
does she read them too?
2 months is enough
2 months was always enough
and 8 months is far too long for nothing to happen
there is relief in the end.
bodies put together
in forgetting another
to be holding my freedom
and i make art out of nothing
and maybe
i made something out of nothing
lord knows i’ve done that a few million times.
a thursday at 2 am.
a white dress, a bar
an open letter to anyone who ever loved me
i can’t carry all of this alone
but i think of my daughter
and how she would be raised in a place
where they’ll wipe the lipstick off her husband’s collar
there’s a better life out there for us.