Sometimes I write to you, about you, for you.
and I wish you’d read it as I wrote.
I wish you’d feel me punching the keyboard in your lungs.
every single letter leaving scars  
The pencil writing the alphabet in your veins.
So you’d look down at your wrists and see, swimming in blue,
the words I could never say out loud. 
Or you’d open your hands and a novel would play out right in your palms. 
sentences on the little wrinkles, punctuation among your freckles.
And they’d carve into your laugh lines and dissolve in your eyes.
and you’d read it until you can recite it backwards
Unread letters piling up 
Binding and coiling and fading and waiting
with every bad move and missed step.

but you know,
some things just don’t wash out.
They don’t fall out when you’re crying 
or rinse out of your hair in the shower.
or chip away like the nail polish on your toes from summer.
some things just hook onto your split ends and bad karma and wait and wait and wait until they can climb back up and tell you off for never listening.
And you’ll push it out and let it go and keep going.
So you don’t have to deal with the things you’ve done.

Can’t you hear me? Because I’ve been talking for so long.

Sometimes I write to you
Full intentions of getting you to read me.
Just once. I’m open. Right here. Always. Let me know you are too. 
Show me some part of you that’s willing.
Page one. Fold over the corner so you won’t lose your place. 
I’ll be here under your bed and on the shelf and in your bag.
I’ll wait at the window and sleep on the couch.
And when the trees breathe in, I will too.

But you’re illiterate when it comes to these things. You always have been. Or maybe you’re not. Maybe my words just aren’t singing to you yet. 
Maybe one of the gears in your body is off kilter. 
But I’d die three times over just to jump inside and put everything back together so your heart sounds the way it’s supposed to. 
so I can fall asleep to something that makes sense.

Breathe it in just once. 
Choke on it and cough it up and wash it down and scream it out.
Scream it right in my face.
At least then I know I’ve gotten through to you.

Give me up.
forget me before your sleep does it for you.
I’m sorry for waking you up. 
You’ll forget me just like everybody else.
like the scars you invited over when everyone else was busy.
You never wanted them

or me