hourglass figure

I’ve lost so much I don’t know how
to keep anything in my hands
Not this love. Not even hope.
There are holes in my palms and
every thing falls through,
sand in an hourglass,
always a second too late.
If I no longer have the things
I think I deserve:
living without melancholy,
the ability to recognize the
extravagant beauty of rain,
maybe that’s what I’m deserving of.
People slip through my fingers
like they’re made of water, and
when I try to hold on the waves
pull me into the ocean and leave
me there to drown. Every time.
I look for you, still.
Water filling up my lungs.
I look for you – still,
and for him – always,
but I can’t find anything.
Not hope. Not even comfort.
I thought if I deprived myself,
I’d learn to swim, alone, but
I’ve lost so much and I don’t know how
to keep my heart from constantly
having to rebuild itself from
the ground up.
She and I are weak.
When I was younger, all I longed
for was independence.
I sought it out like it would
save me. I lit a match
and flicked it into every gasoline-
soaked person I walked into and
ran – excuses to be both the hero
and the villain. I was saving me.
Now that all I have is myself,
I’m just tired.
Just here.
Drowning and on fire.


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