Homesickness to me is not always
a particular memory or place or person,
but a debilitating, sneaky sadness
that creeps up on weekday nights.
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It’s been so long since I last saw
the faces that I used to know
But now you’re near, so close to me—
a hundred miles is just a throw.
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Light is breaking through the cracks,
the crawling king snake snaps his back,
his hollow heart was painted black
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Girlhood was the homes we made
In the bushes at the bottom of the playground,
where the branches reached out from tangled
masses like welcome, open hands.
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I don’t know if i can, y’know, do this
I can’t pray that we are star-crossed anymore,
I think we’re just unlucky.
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letting go
like the wind eases off the leaves.
letting go
like the waves ease off the shore.
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