The biting my nails to the nub while simultaneously fidgeting with the buttons off my cardigan because I can't get enough.
Enough of the way those arms use to greet me like a sunday morning but cut off then it's monday morning
Unable to differentiate my tears from the water dripping from the shower head onto my cheeks.
And now the fly aways are the only thing up and early.
Everything goes up and now it's pouring
Down on my heavy heart
My nerves breathe
and I've never been in a fist fight, but baby.
I throw low blows
low enough to remember the way your laughter felt in the corners of my ears.
The way your sleepy voice was my prize, but I've broken both wrists at your connivence.
And now I'm fighting every urge not to call or text you right now.
But I won't lose the way we did.
I won't call you.
Or text you.
So I'll just read to you.
I'll eventually lose.
According to you.
According to you.
You got a new number.
your number has three nines in a row only because the devil sees you upside down.
That's how I refer to my birth giver.
And she can't understand you,
but she doesn't need to.
You're beautiful on the inside as much as you are out.
And I'll be the mirror that reminds you of how well you wear your imperfections.
How your baby-fat is the only description you have left of your childhood.
How your hair doesn't know if it's straight or curly because my sexuality has a direct decision on it.
How the glare of the lights off your glasses rejects all the ugly the world has to offer.
How perfectly you pretend to wear your heart on your sleeve when we both know it's on mine.
And even then
After all the ugly, you're still wanted.
After all the mean, you're still needed.
After all the false hope, you're still missed.
But most of all.
After all the heartbreak upon heartbreak you're still loved.