barnacle

why do we call things ugly?

there is beauty in every stretch mark

beauty in every misplaced tile and opened door

there is allure in every ripped elbow,

gorgeousness in every spinning hurricane

every split end,

opened to expose the ugly to the world,

open to stretch and see the sunrise,

to wander in its hideosity. 

there is wonder in being forgotten,

hope in the unknowable. 

I have had so much more trust in the world since you've been gone. 

I eat breakfast and don't hear phantom phone dings replicating your heartbeat. 

I walk across bridges and don't picture them burning

I close my eyes and don't see myself drowning in memories of what I should have done. 

there is majesty in mistaken identities 

pillowcases giving back the tears I wove into them,

hourglasses turning backwards

to when you never had a paper cut and never had that first reason to talk to me. 

I wonder a lot how much of this is my fault, my fault, my fault

how much I could have stopped. 

I'd like to tell you a story but the last one ended in blood. 

I'd like to help you but that's not my fucking job anymore  

let me describe a panic attack

this one more colorful, more piercing than the rest,

In the middle of a football game,

I ached for a written ending. 

to find le fin and finish pretending

I texted, hello, how are you, are you ok

before the last one I already knew,

the words unfolding on my tongue before inhaling, curled up in dread, they sunk to the back of my throat. 

I wailed so small that the barnacles in the ocean felt my pain

and my family sat with me, and I thought about how they were chosen and you were not, and my chosen Fernando held my hand, and my chosen Maddie listened as I whisper over and over that you were gone and it was my fault and we cried and she told me it wasn't my fault, not ever, my fault, my fault, it felt like for the first time ever I knew what being alive was. 

so it is because I never knew more strength than that day,

that I am sure there is beauty in everything. 

That endings have more beginnings than my body has curves

and smoke holds more presence than your fist lifts fear 

and I'm rambling

and I don't love you

and I'm sorry

but if it makes you feel any better, I think you're beautiful too.