I have been up for days
the world is changing once more and I am lost in it again. You address me like a letter that is not too heavy for reading
I think of this often
We do not speak of the sizable donation your heart gives mine
but I think of this often
We do not always discuss the way your body carries mine
but I think of this often
I come to you hands burnt with memories, hands burnt with prayer, hands burnt with love, you blow on the skin, and I fall asleep
I come to you, heart creased like a folded chair, body bent like 20 pound currency, we spend moments trying to figure out what to do with what's left of me
I ask you questions about the world
if the songs could ever be beautiful again
if the light can come without fire
if the pain will ever relocate, will ever take it's distant family and leave me
we do not give the pain a name
but it has a face
sharp teeth
and appetite
you remind me that the pain is more afraid of me than i am of it
I tell you the poetry hasn't fixed me yet, you remind me that I can't bring words to a knife fight
I ask you will I ever be okay
will I ever move on
can i ever get over it
you say this is not something you can get over, not something you can forget
this is something where
in time
remembering
will hurt less
every morning I make a list of people I know who love me, I put my name underneath yours, I think of our names, how similar they are, the irony of its distinction
that it only takes one night to heal the morning
you came in, and the pain fold it's clothes
you came in, and it packs it's family
you came in and the teeth chips away
the light does not burn... the songs are beautiful again
My mother
I wish it would end
Do you experience this in an anxiety attack?
The last letter I sent my mother, I can’t take anymore 
