When it Comes

when the inadequacy of it sets in,/it’ll seep in slowly/ the way water invades a raft that’s punctured/deflating almost gracefully/ I always knew you were a mistake./looking back,/ i see you standing like a doorman,/ gentlemanly & respectable & kind to a fault./i see you smoking, a sin i thought i had left behind/ but sometimes we don’t let go,/ we cling to to the past bad habits/ we pick things up again, & we look for warmth in whatever we can hold/ & i held onto your hand the way i hold onto cigarettes/ nowadays because sometimes its/ psychotically comforting to to let/ the past catastrophes of our lives encase us./ we believe our mistakes make us/ so we keep making them./ we allow water to rush in repeatedly./ then a zit the size of everest appears on my cheek, /i wonder if it’s from the foreign oils of your bed sheets,/ if your residue is seeping into my pores,/ if i’m inhaling you, absorbing you through every skin cell/ we’re saturating each other in this/ thick smoke of failed hope & chronic loneliness/ & since i don’t know of any other way to do these things,/ despite knowing we’re sinking,/ i kiss you & tell you i’ll stay./in your room /we turn on lights that look like anchors /we feed eachothers demons,/ choke on smoke before harboring under a blanket/ that feels like a/ thousand baby seals/ & it is nice for a fraction of a second./ when it when this mass of us comes together,/ we’ll grow quietly,/ like a tumor you didn’t know you had,/ like cancer growing in the lymphnodes of loved ones/ it’ll reside somewhere hidden in your skin before it screams/ with the malignancy of an impossible partnership/fighting against the friction of misconnection./ this was never the way it was supposed to be./ half of the time we’re together/ i’m imagining you as losing your ability to float/ as if i am the anvil on this, as if i am an obstacle for you to overcome./ i get the sense that every conversation with you is constant/ negotiation between /what you think & what you think you’re /supposed to be saying/i wonder if most of your life/has been a continuous test of how much of other people’s shit you could take/ & i’m guessing the answer to “how much” is “a lot”/ & i don’t know you that well/ but i think you could only ever love me as a default,

as a way to pacify yourself into being ok./ so imagine the relief when we finally broke it off/ because maybe we can end that cycle of /intentional self-drowning we both tend to do/ And just swim.

(Heather Dora, 2014)