VIII

I don’t know how I’m feeling.
It’s all tearing me apart.
It’s not even about us—
just a grief I try to guard.

It’s in everything at once.
It’s in all of the regret.
But you don’t have any of that;
you can’t understand it yet.

There’s a landscape inside me
you can’t reach it all the time.
I don’t want you to see it.
Maybe some detours are only mine.

And I will be alright.
I just need a little time 
to swallow it down,
to be normal, to be kind,
interesting, feminine,
radiant, and prim.
Scrape the bottom of the barrel—
there’s still something left within.

And I’m thankful for the ways 
you lift the veil from me.
I love the sanctuaries
you build for my reprieve.

Know my gratitude runs deep,
though I wish I couldn’t feel. 
But there is a time to mourn, 
and a time to heal.

And I’m staring at a casket 
that I swear I’ve seen before.
It happens all too quickly—
always leaves me wanting more.
Another birthday going by, 
and I don’t know what for.