Feb 20


i know where you like to hide.
i know that your fingernails like to
tap along the wall of a blue whale heart,
i know that you like to see how small
your body can become inside an artery.
i know you prefer human hearts on occasions-
when the blue whale heart becomes
too stiflingly large,
too anonymous, not nearly enough control.
i know you hate anything that stands before you,
i know your mittens are often looped together like handcuffs
and your scarf appears like a noose.
i know you like to shimmy into veins,
swim in the dark dangerous blood,
stain the bones with despair,
blame it on chicken pox and be on with your life.
i know your type-
staying just long enough to make a difference
and leave a footprint on my chest,
but i know that your feet are too small
to have any weight,
and the prints left on me are self-made.
i know you like to burrow into others,
i know you like to blame strangers for your mistakes,
i know that we’re similar in more ways
than i’d like to admit.
i know that your absence is so sharp, so sudden,
that sometimes i let a tear slip by.
but i learned from the best,
and, like you,
i just blame it on the raindrops.