I don’t know how to make you

not make me


Glass cargo trucks carry

big boulders across 

dessert storms

and I am supposed to perform

as if

we aren’t all paper mache puppets

and you did not

laugh the same as I did

and I did not 


snot off your face when you were drunk in the bathroom

and I am supposed to not

understand your hurt

because common social graces dictate

that I hold steady

but I am a wave

and I am always forward

until I am back

and I run on for so long

with an undertow. 

If you press sand long enough

on the shore or elsewhere

it turns translucent

and these shards were removed from my feet long ago

but I keep them in a jar

to run through my palms when you call,

just a reminder why

I stay so far

from what you sea. 


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