when I say what I mean,
loosen my hands
and lay my honesty down on the table,
who loses?
my stubborn brain,
holding out with white knuckles,
has cost me a tender heart time and time again.
we kept a horseshoe above the front door, a formica table with twinkling stars we found in a garage sale, kitchen green with plants hanging off every edge, and shelves you made me by hand. you kept photos of me by your side of the bed and I rested my hand on your back when I slept. we had hooks for our keys with our initials, your grandmothers meatball recipe in the far kitchen drawer, and a lighter from our night in japan sat safe on our desk. the dog kept her paws off the kitchen floor, I cried in the shower so you couldn’t tell, and you slept further away til my hand couldn’t reach. shards from a glass you threw stuck to my selena record I kept on the wall, you turned my photos face down, and your coffee mug stayed in the same spot for weeks after the day you left.
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