Maybe You're The City (And I'm The Crumbling Bricks)

Sometimes, I look at you and I see hands

clawing off my skin and my dignity

all at once,

like I'm the landscape they're reshaping.

I still haven't grown back the flowers.

Sometimes,

I see red streaked across the concrete

and I feel myself giving up.

Sometimes,

I hear words whispered in my ear

and I feel myself tearing to shreds.

Sometimes,

I just see them.

.

They tear through my dreams, my nightmares,

and I wake

screaming for them to let me go, even though

I know they won't listen.

They never have faces.

They never have names.

They are monsters of memories I can't escape

and the bars on this cage

are made of ivory innocence.

I want you to let me out,

sometimes,

toss me the key or smash down the walls, but

I don't want you to see

what's trapped in here with me.

.

You run your hands across my skin and tell me

you don't mind the lightning because it

speaks the truth.

I want to tell you not to touch me,

I can't see you when you do,

but I don't want to have to tell you

who I see instead.

.

I was always afraid of this,

you know.

I didn't want to kiss you or tell you how I felt

and have it change the way you saw me.

I am made of lightning

and I am made of cages.

There are stories in the thunder

and a beast behind the bars.

Neither are things I want you to know.

.

You whisper my name like a ghost and I wonder

if that's what I'm going to become.

I whisper yours like a cure and I hope

that's what it will be.

I shouldn't, I know that, but the pills

don't take the memories,

just the feelings,

and I'd rather they did the opposite.

.

I don't want to hate it

when you run your fingers down my spine.

I don't want to tremble

when you breathe against my ear.

I don't want to worry

if you'll hate me when the lightning

flashes red instead.

I just want to love you.

And I wish,

God, I wish,

that were enough to make it true.

.

Sometimes, I look at you and I see flowers

blooming in an open field,

like you can grow them for me and gift them when you're done.

Sometimes,

I see red streaked across the concrete

and I wish you could clean it with a wave of your hand.

Sometimes,

I hear words whispered in my ear

and I wish you could drown out the sound.

Sometimes,

I wish I could just see you.

There are days where I think you might know.

Like you can see the bruises

that have faded from my skin,

or the peppering of scabs

that have healed off my back.

There are days where I wish you knew.

Like when you ask me

why I freak when you touch me

or never take any shortcuts.

.

I wish I could tell you.

Or I wish you could remember before

and hold onto it for me because

I can't do it myself.

I wish I could let you love me

like I wanted you to for so long,

but it's too fresh, too painful

and I know you're going to leave.

I don't want you to leave.

.

Sometimes I'll open my mouth and I'll say

"I need to tell you something,"

but the courage always goes away the moment

you turn to face me and instead

I say, "Never mind,"

because I know that you will.

I know you'll want to kill them

and love me even sweeter

and I know you'll want to kill yourself

because I do.

I always have.

I'll never tell you that, either.

.

I liked the way we started, you know.

I liked the lightning and the galaxies and the horses

and I want to go back to the silver-gold snow.

I liked it when you told me you'd always felt the same,

you just hadn't understood

my screams for you to love me.

I liked it when I told you I'd loved you from the start,

before we got drunk and desperate

and suddenly the distance

was building a brick wall between us.

I liked it when you told me you felt awful about that

because you thought

I hated you for it

and I told you I was mad at myself

because I thought

you hated me, too.

.

I liked the start when we were happy,

or the closest I could be,

and you built me a lightning rod

to keep it far away from me.

I liked it when you told jokes and I laughed and

you kissed me for the second time

just outside my economics class.

I liked the start when we didn't even know each other and

I saw you for the first time

and thought you were an angel.

I liked it when you loved me and I loved you and maybe it was painful

but it was simple,

too.

I liked it when you loved me and I loved you and the only thing that hurt

was thinking you didn't feel

the same.

.

I think I should've realized

it would hurt more when I knew

that you did.

.

There are days where I wonder if you'll ask

why I didn't come home that one night

until five in the morning

and you didn't see me for two days after

because I was locked inside my room.

There are days where I wish that you will,

so I can tell you about the bruises and the scabs

that I never let you see.

I want to hear you tell me

It wasn't my fault.

but I want to be able

to believe you if you do.

The phone is in your hands,

cord stretched long but not enough

to hang me with,

and I can hear your muffled sobs

down the line to my sister

(or maybe it's my mother).

.

You tell them how the lightning is no longer focused whips,

but trees growing all across my body

barely an inch untouched by their branches.

You tell them how there's red pen

blocking out what makes me myself.

.

I want to tell you to stop.

I want to tell you I'm trying.

I want to tell you the truth.

I want to tell you I love you and it's enough but the truth is

it isn't.

Love is not a cure for shattered bone or an ailing mind,

it is only a buffer

to block out the pain

until it's gone and you're left with a wound a thousand times deeper

because you forgot to let it heal.

.

"Please come visit," you say.

You mean

Please come help.

I think

it's starting to hurt again.

My sister is stronger than a hurricane

but sometimes I think maybe

she'll blow away with the wind.

I love her when she holds me up in gentle arms

with firm hands and tells me to stop falling

because she won't pick me up again.

I love her when she tells me to let you in

like it really is so easy, so simple, just

because she believes it can be.

.

I don't love her when she whispers to you

after dark, sneaking off the cot on my floor

to your room

where your conversations are secrets in locked chests

I don't hold keys for.

Or when she looks at you like she knows

and she's telling you everything I won't.

.

I don't want her to know.

I don't want you to know.

But when I look back at her I see

she's trying not to fall apart

by my side.

.

I know what you say when the lights are off.

I know

you speak of my monsters

like you have any idea what they look like.

I know

you speak of my demons

like you have any idea where their claws are.

I know

you tell her you're worried and you're scared

and I know

she says the same.

I know

you do it because you love me,

but it doesn't feel like it.

.

I wish you would both just tell me instead.

I wish

you asked after my monsters

so I could tell you how they're great winged beasts with talons

clinging to the cages and rattling the bars

flapping leather wings to blow away my sense

of safety.

I wish

you asked after my demons

so I could tell you how they're digging holes into my lungs

and ripping out both my breaths and my words

leaving me choking on a silence

that's starting to drown me.

I wish you asked me what was wrong

so I could tell you the poisoned black water is heavy

and I don't remember how

to swim.

.

My sister is stronger than a hurricane

and I will blow away with the wind.

I hate it when she comes to visit

because she is made of faerie dust and feathers

and just a dash of iron bone

and I am made of gnarled lightning and monsters

and the blood on the concrete I can't wash away.

I hate it when she comes to remind me

of dead horses and still oceans and empty galaxies

because at least when I'm looking at you

you remind me it's okay

to have lost them.

My brother is a mangled wolf with one eye

ripping everything to shreds,

blood caked all down its fur.

He is a frightened lion cub

terrified of the whole wide world.

I love him when he grabs my arm and hoists me up

and tells me to get a grip

because he's already gotten his.

I love him when he tells me he doesn't understand you.

Like your glitter, your pride

is the most confusing thing about my life.

.

I don't love him when he looks at me like that,

like one eye is enough to see the gouges

in my lungs.

Or when his hands are cages like the ivory

twisting across my skin as he demands things

I do not know how to give.

I don't love him when his eyes are golden fire burning

through the blood caked across my skin and seeing

the demons and the monsters and every word

I can't say out loud.

.

I know what he thinks when he looks at me sometimes.

I know

he thinks I'm folding in on myself

like I'm a hand of cards with no chance at a flush.

I know

he thinks I'm trying to fake strength I don't have

like I'm the magician who pretends magic to crowds of believers.

I know

he thinks it because he's worried,

but it doesn't feel like it.

.

I wish he would just tell me all his thoughts instead.

I wish

he questioned my folding

so I could tell him there's nothing to fold in on because I

am empty and lost and cold and it hurts

and I think maybe I'm going to die like this.

I wish

he questioned my fake strength

so I could tell him I'm not alive enough to pretend

and really there's just devils dancing in my lungs

and cages between the monsters and the world.

I wish

he questioned everything about me

so I could tell him I think there's nothing left

and I'm scared you're going to go searching one day

and realize you can't love

a ghost.

.

My brother is a mangled wolf and a lion cub and

I hate it when he comes to visit

because he is everything

and I am nothing

and I am terrified

you're going to see the chasms

I am folding into.

It wasn't my fault.

I can tell myself this, now.

I can believe this, now.

It is dark

(It's always dark.)

and the sky is solid midnight dreams.

You look at me with eyes like the river;

steady, uncertain, wearing grooves into the rock it crashes against.

I keep my oceans faced away,

not wanting them to merge this time,

but still I know the galaxies of conversations

have returned.

I want to say your name like a cure,

but I know that's something it'll never be.

I want you to say mine like a promise,

but I'm scared it'll be one you keep.

.

It is quiet

(It's always quiet.)

and the space between us is fractured white,

stretching off into infinity.

There's a part of me that wants to tear it all to shreds

and another that wants to shrink like faded paper.

It's a war

I don't want to fight.

(I don't want to fight.)

So instead I keep my eyes turned away and I bite my lip and I try

not to think of everything you want me to.

I try not to think of loving you

of hating myself

of monsters and demons

of blood on concrete

of red pen and lightning

of wolves and hurricanes

of horses and cliffs.

.

"Please," you beg

and it's more than just a word.

(It's always more.)

My throat is a trap door

and I'm not sure I want to find the latch.

I swallow down the words banging at the metal

and remind myself it's better you don't know.

I don't think

you would look at me the same

if you knew.

.

"Just tell me what's going on."

It's innocent,

pleading,

like you are not twisting a knife of guilt into my gut

every time you ask.

The moon wanes a little more

(It's dying.)

and I wish I were disappearing with it.

.

I laugh.

The sound is charcoal in your teeth and mud on your shoes

and I watch your expression

drop with it.

I almost laugh again,

but I think better of it when I see how close

you are to crying out all the water

in your body.

.

"There's nothing going on," I say.

It's not a lie.

There is a thing that happened

and a thing that repeats

but there is nothing that continues

at all times.

.

"Stop lying to me!"

Angry.

(I don't like angry.)

You've never been so angry.

I want to be scared of the volcanoes in your eyes

but I think I've already turned

to stone.

.

"I'm not," I say.

It's not a lie, either.

There are things I don't tell you

and things I avoid,

but I have never really lied to you.

.

My name like a curse tumbling to the ground,

you glare steel daggers at my head

and I almost manage to dodge them all,

but one wedges deep into my throat and suddenly

all the words have an opening to escape.

.

I am crying

and you are crying

(The whole world is crying.)

and I have never said the R word before

but I know now it's made

of nails on chalkboard, gnashing teeth, screaming children.

I hate the way you're looking at me,

wide-eyed like the world has teleported out from under you

and crashed down on your head.

I hate the way you seem so scared to move,

like I'm some fragile broken thing you don't want to startle.

.

I am not broken.

(Please don't think that.)

I am not in need of fixing.

(Not by anyone but me.)

I don't want you to look at me

and see hands and blood and damaged goods

because I did not break,

I survived.

And maybe I don't want you to think that, either,

because I don't want you to think that means

I am suddenly someone I am not.

.

And I don't think I'm ever going to forgive you

if you keep treating me

like glass.

(I am an iron sword.)

Do not tell me you love me.

(Like that makes everything okay.)

Do not tell me I am still beautiful.

(Like I'm not supposed to be.)

Do not tell me I am going to be okay.

(Like I need the reassurance.)

Do not tell me how strong I am.

(I already know.)