If I could, I would lend you the strongest pair of scissors in the world
to help you cut the strings to your own shadow and let it fly
away like a kite just so it wouldn’t have to stop following you
around anymore. I know that your version of self-love
is treating your wrists like bulls-eyes, but I will never
hand you the arrow that could hit those two targets,
no matter how hard you have to kiss me.
A kiss that ends up in damage to your skin
is the only kiss I will never willingly accept.
If there were a Jeopardy show made specifically
on the theme of “you,” then Alex Trebek, I’ll take
you for $500. Chemistry doesn’t even fully appreciate
the eruptions you cause in my heart like a string
of explosives tied to a suicide bomber’s belt.
So you can see how it pains me to watch you
treat your body like the last damn glass of wine
on the dinner table that everyone else is too drunk
to pay attention to. And let me remind you
that the ocean is just a liquid version of the sky,
so believe me when I say I wish I could pull
all the stars from the night for you
and trade them for the fears that constantly
keep trying to pull you beneath the surface.