FOR WHAT YOU OUGHT TO LEAVE BEHIND

HEAVENS, how long have you been there? Your thighs have become branches and your sheets have become roots. Trees are beautiful metaphors but you, you smell like a funeral. Today, I watch you from the outside. We have always been two people in the same place but today I let you rot alone.

Your eyes are the only pair glued to the blank, unmoving, clock because this sight has had too many an audience. Long enough for even time to give up. You’ve lived long, but not wide. And how I wished you lived wide.

Don’t you remember? We are made of stardust, you and I. We are the same magic that bless the night sky. But you always recall that you take the burning more than the glitter. Will you curl up again, tonight? Will you curl up with your hands clasped together, reciting a prayer your mother taught you?

When will you stop wishing that your spine will grow wings and save you from the terror you’ve written yourself? Your blanket will never shield you from the chill of your making. You beat warmth, and you still breathe life. Arise.

I want you to remember that it is only you now, and that should you die I will still continue to live.

That should you die, I will not oppose. I am no longer tolerant of this reinstatement you insist on romanticizing.

Should you die, I will sing you a song at your grave. Should you die, I will gather your closest friends and celebrate the life you have lived. Should you die, I will paint your picture to revisit the crevices of your joy. Should you die, I will remember you but I will be thankful. You have overstayed your welcome.

If this is to be your death, let it not be ours for I still hold a hope you will refuse to carry. Should you die, I want you to decide because my words are never meant to comfort your pain. Should you die, let it be now, because my life is as limited as yours but my clock is still ticking, and my l i ght i s still shining. Should you die, I want you to remember that you have l ived your purpose and that there is no hell for the both of us.

Tonight as you recite the prayer your mother taught you, let it be for the last time. May you find your wings, but never from your spine and understand that you will be as bright as the night sky. You have lifted the weight for the both of us, but it is time to say goodbye./