is love that
i don't know who has made who better
me or you?
or is it safety
and laying our throats open to each other's knives
tell me i've been bad
kneel behind me and tug my arm in a direction it's not meant to go
put your other hand on my windpipe
and while i choke
i'll tell you that you're desperate and pathetic and disgusting
and if you say
"you're one to talk"
i'll cry and your hand will move from my neck to cover my eyes
and if i grab for you
and you don't let me go
i'll keep crying
for mommy and daddy and my broken roommate and dead classmates and Trayvon Williams and my hung ambitions and girls boiling in their own rage and the little indecent things you have to hear everyone say and cluttered aesthetics and careless art
and you will get to take credit for cracking open my frozen heart
and you will get to sink your teeth into my shoulders so you don't have to bite anyone else
so no one will call you pyscho anymore
we'll all feel better
we'll tell each other we've been so good
we'll forget the language of crushing and spitting
forget "stupid, self-indulgent, ridiculous, childish, infuriating"
you were so good
you did so well
you did so well for me
the salt off our fingers still in each other's mouths
our stinky toes entwined
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