poems

untitled

april 2024

my eyes are starting to look like yours: sunken, encircled, reminiscent of black holes. i see your name in every sentence and your clothes on my walls. you’re in my periphery and it’s as much as i deserve to perceive you but then i blink and you take up all the space.

my nails are getting long again like yours. there’s a shiny little piece of scraped skin on my thumb. i’ve been told i get fidgety when you’re within range. god, is it that bad? i think of your fingers, free of marks, defined in a way i can only wish to capture. i’m not very good with my hands. everything just slips out and crashes.

my movements are becoming mirrors of yours. i talk and i laugh and i pout the way you do. you're my dream role: every night i rehearse my lines, i review my tone, i reconstruct myself. you see, maybe if i were more like you, you'd be more open to me. and maybe i wouldn't be so scared of you.