Coco

Last night at work, I had a bit of a panic attack. Something like that, something similar. You don’t really know while you’re in it, why it happens, but the reasons were there, and I know them now. 

I want your freckled cheeks and blond eyelashes

and I want your flying hair

and I want your careful words that start tumbling fast,

woven together,

please

so I can wrap myself up

and remind myself of happy.

 “It was her fault

She was wearing that skirt

Practically asking for it”

No

No she wasn’t

She was 15 years old

I would weave in the tears of a mermaid, the breath of my love, and the drop of the ocean