I may spend the rest of my dreaming nights
wondering where you are
wondering under what sky you slumber
and if your arms are around another lover
and if you are muffled under blankets
that smell like your skin
that smell like rain.

while I lay
in bed
my heart beat slow and warm
steady and secret
sometimes wrapped in musk
sometimes alone

a tiny shiny piece scar added to my
hip
a tiny shiny proof of love
on my skin.
a starburst of missing you
a passing shooting longing
grazing my hip bones like
light
like
rain
to remind me
to wander
in wonderings
of where you are.

Sometimes I feel small
for no reason
at all
and that is okay.

I embrace my mortality
and tell myself that I am
vulnerable tonight
and didn't need anyone to
see me as fragile
as
dragonfly wings
didn't need you to
love me
didn't need your love to wrap around
me.
all four limbs of
security.
built a fort all alone.
built my self.

I
collect me
into a knot
of
insignificance
and that is okay.

a small
heart can still love big
and a broken
thing can still sing praise
and all that is
sinking and useless in me
may
be a stepping stone to raise others
and while
I
shout profanities into the mirror
but I will
never stop
seeing
beautiful things with
all the admiration that an
imperfect
thing
could muster
because
I am small
but I am
meaningful.

all the broken things in my life are broken
because I
dont deserve things to be whole
like when you left
me
when you said
You never thought it was me
you wanted
it broke me right down the middle
of all of the plans I had
with you;
a lifetime
of discovering you.

Had me pining for your affection
had me wondering
what
is so disgusting in me
what is so absolutely undesirable
in me
what could be so ugly
what could be so detestable
that you
felt that you could
leave me
behind
like
I was so easy to
erase
I was not meaningful
enough
to keep and to savor

and I wondered for such a while
sat there and pondered about my imperfections
for so long
i started to
sing all the ways
that
I
dont deserve
my life
like some
fucked up melody
to describe a fucked up
soul.

but how is that surprising
anyways
since i've broken people
and lied enough
to fill a casket full of
devastation
so maybe
I am sad
because I'm imperfect
because I am not good enough
for good things
and
It's not fair
that I impose it on others
share my
sadness
and weep and
waste their
time
steal their happiness
with my
fake kindness
and my fake
existence.

I am
so tired
of that.

I am so tired
of who I am
turning out to
be
and
I
rub my skin
raw
because
my heart is limited
and I am impatient
and
I disgust myself
more than
anybody else.