I’m supposed to believe
that this body is resolution
to conflict now melted into the air
people don’t understand
how I can piece any of it out of the sky,
how many of my good parts have staled
in exchange for breathing underwater.
I’m supposed to believe
that I am a being overflowing with love
but when left uncalibrated
this becomes my worst personality trait,
some organism inside me demanding
for any wound to put back together
as a kind of gift to open on a rainy day.
I’m supposed to believe
that I can continue without bandages,
live past the stings and undercuts,
the still in between rage and tears, whispers of
we good?/I hope you’ve found someone good for you/please don’t leave
to which I’ll reply
To keep my sanity, I have to accept that
I can never stop tending to you
