to the tall women love sometimes makes small,
You can And kind of have to Forgive yourself For there being two sides to every coin
& even if there isn’t, You had so little to do with any of that in the first place
So do not bear down On your own selves For that bone curling - in
The sentiment - That makes you wonder What is the the conversion rate for Feet to feelings?
Why does this shit make me feel so small?
Who determines what questions are worth asking here?
Cause I wanna know: How does the love you hand-build for the tethering of another become the very gravity used against you?
This weight Has set it’s darkest eye On the iterating joy in my marrowed chambers
Pressing down
Saw crackin’, Inches off my affection (Like that scene in Pocahontas) So that my calves Drive deeper unsupervised into my ankles & I am survived By the splinters Of my own attempts at tree
But nothing is vulnerable enough No bone, no branch And I wind up reconciling with myself That this is what I get.
It’s nice to know I still want to be what you want. Somewhere I guess
& I have to say that aloud So I can hear how stupid that is
Because I love you But more than one thing can be true at a time.