if anyone ever tells you your sadness isn't physical,
show them the ache in your bones,
the raw skin on your arms or wrists or hips or thighs,
the imprint of your foetal body on your mattress from the days you couldn't bear to leave.
and you see this?
this is what hurt looks like.
i want you to look closer, lean in a little until you can feel the sadness on my breath
and i want you to watch my eyes. count how often they blink and count how many of them are forcing back words i still can never say.
i don't want you to miss a second of how you make me feel.
i want to be what keeps you up at night
i want to be the reason you can't eat
or laugh at your favourite tv programs
i want to be the reason
you walk with your eyes on the pavement
because too many things
remind you of me
i want you to feel the soreness of a heart unloved
loudly enough that the beating is mute and slow
loudly enough that you keep your hands in your pockets
when you move through the city so you don't touch anyone by accident
because right now a touch would be a touch too much.
what i want is for you, to be here,
tonight, two rows back.
i want you far enough so you can't touch me
and you won't feel it when my tears hit the ground but
i want you to see it all and i want to watch you take it in.
instead of me, the worm, the perpetual squirm,
the body beneath yours in warmth and rapture and fullness,
i want to see you watch me empty myself and see as nothing and nothing and nothing comes up in heaves.
i want to watch your eyes the whole time and never look down
because i don't want to miss a minute of this, i want you to see with clear eyes
what you've done and i want to see that you mean it when i say