i. phosphorus; atomic number 15, never found as a free element on earth, essential for life; named for lucifer, light-giver, glows in the presence of oxygen.
ii. girl as a swarm. i keep bees under my tongue, never find purchase, feel dizzy in high places because what if this body jumps. i picture bad moments like blizzards, count and recount what could go wrong and weigh it against the fragile good i sew.
iii. you and blue have a lot in common; the cliche of oceans, the cliche of a river that moves so smooth through my blood i don’t realize until too late i’m terribly drunk, the cliche of a lovely bruise and your voice and the songs you hum
iv.
combustible, relating to combustion; able to catch fire and burn easily.
v. i’ve been learning the names of mythical creatures, i’ve been learning the names of plants and animals, i’ve been learning the names of funny internet kittens. i’m keeping my thoughts organized into “would you like this”, “i have to show you” “how do we hide the truth in this.” my anxiety and i are partners in a landslide hunt; we devour any fact that might convince you we’re good enough.
vi. you as electricity. the blush of your cheeks and how your hair looks when it’s messy. in this is simplicity, i catch, don’t have words for the burning. there’s just you and easy, your body in my sheets, a switch flicking. no noise no static no unbecoming. i know i’m shaky. it’s just the shock of the falling.
vii. melting, to melt: to thaw when exposed to heat. to become more tender, to become more loving.
i woke up bad, and i woke up bad, and i woke up like oh-this-again. the worst was the wearing-down. the slow undoing. i could handle the day, the week, the month. but year after year of it, over and over, a slow crawl over sandpaper.
sometimes it was okay, but it was never better than okay, even on an excellent day. nothing good hit me. i’d do the act, get right the dancing. i’d go on adventures and make friends and watch good movies. and none of it touched me. even when i was laughing.
and when it was awful, oh god, it was awful. there’s a lower than low, and i always found it. i always found a way to feel worse.
the yellow sun came down wrong. i was baptized in a light that never reached my core, that never healed me. i don’t know what warmth means. i’ve been doing happy wrong since i was thirteen.
less hours in the day. a longer night. i sit in front of the window and my mom asks are you going to be okay this time?
the winter comes and i scoop out. i’ve been better this year, been balanced, been healthy. it’s been nice to be happy. i just feel like i was born with a hole that can never be filled. it pulls the good out of me.
i don’t want to go back there. god, are you listening? don’t make me go back there, not this time, not again, not when i think i finally understand exactly what i’m losing.
