I have been with the same man for ten years. I found him on the wires wrapped right round
the world. And he changed his name because he heard mine. I saw him again over ink hearts and math class.
When he spoke, his tongue encircled all my vowels. My man stabbed the earth with flag poles all
over And I always found him, with outstretched
fingers. I can hand-pick him like a tea leaf from this
forest or any other. Made him my Pensieve so he could own every
strand of my story; Embroider every fracture on my heart
Like a fruit in his red palms. I have been the giving tree;
But so was he, So was he:
In pain and beauty. Sometimes, he would lock me in his tower,
call my name in delirium. Or drown me in a faraway fountain that he
never drank from. He would engulf me till my lungs were knuckles
and cold stone. Or forsake me in silence till my skin was
white hot lonely. The secret is to find the same man,
Choke him till he only says your name, But never gets it right.
It never sounds sweet Before it tastes like bile. I loved the same man
Because I couldn’t love him right. I never saw him,
But recited his possibilities like prayer beads.
And thought that was my calling. You see, I can’t love the man behind the
glass, exiled – Staring down from giant billboards in the
sky. I do not see the man in the mirror
And he quietly shuts his eyelids and fasts. You can take the horse to the water,
But have you tried lowering your jaw to the lake?
It almost feels like dying, At Narcissus and Ophelia’s wake. The dead past doesn’t bury its dead.
You must wade through the bodies To find the roots of the plague.
It is easier cheerleading others there, So it’s never your turn to descend.