In Your Atmosphere
Dear Love,
I hate you.
Yet you mean the world
to the world.
Your deft hands lure me
Into your shockwave,
Yet you make my head spin
And force me out.
I can’t tell
If you want me here
Or not.
You are my sixth sense
But when present
You cloak all others
In scratchy wool
And polyester.
But for you,
Silk gowns,
Diamond earrings,
And for me,
A bitter paradox.
You make me powerless,
Yet you make me fearless.
You make me weaker,
Yet you convince me I’m strong.
Luckily, I don’t need strength
To build your house of cards,
I only need strength
To write your eulogy.
Sometimes I try
To speak to you.
Sometimes I try
To make wet wood burn.
I breathe your air
And I speak your tongue,
Yet I know now
That you’ll always
Have your finger
On the trigger
Of your gun.
My sore muscles draw me
To your unmade bed
And while I lay there,
Paralyzed,
I dream that you’ll leave me alone.
Let me be.
Let me watch my breath
Fog up the window
And not have you wipe it away
Yet I know now
That you won’t be going anywhere.
And so I try
And try
To escape,
And so I melt
But you,
You are salt
And I am ice.
No one dare touch us,
Or dare get close.
But still
Your shockwave stretches for miles,
And miles,
And miles.
And I
Am right at the epicenter.
But who am I
To dishonor such a global power
While living
In your atmosphere.