THE FIRST & LAST PERSON TO DISCOVER HEARTBREAK WAS ME
I never know if it’s better to feel loneliness or unity in heartbreak.
I want to feel especially broken; I want to hold a stranger’s pinkie
beneath bathroom walls because we’re both weeping in separate stalls.
But then I can’t unlock the door, so I consider spending my whole life
on the toilet bowl, hips numb as I sit that age alone, with cell
service but not willing to phone my mom because she’ll tell me
I need to come back home. & I’ll tell her I want to wear eyeliner
now so that people know when I’m most vulnerable; I want
to undress to blank bones. & she’ll say I am too sweet & sick
& I can’t keep living my life like a poem. It’s written beautifully,
but the ending never ends well, everyone escapes but me.
It’s okay, though terrifying. I love too much & won’t let
go of that mercy. Besides, the world would be boring
if it clung to my knees, if it always stayed to care for my body.