This Is How It Feels to Have a Crush
When the figment of my imagination aligns
perfectly with the filament of space,
the impossible, the it can’t be,
notches itself into place.
A threat—
My savior complex flares,
My back arches,
the gears tick.
I can feel myself losing steam for the life I’ve built around me.
A string drops from the ceiling. The balloon follows me, room to room,
what if written in sharpie across its latex.
First, my wrists go. They start to feel loose in their sockets, heavy, dead weight,
already lost to the narrative. My eyes glaze over.
Every so often, I let myself wriggle in the sheets of the details,
tugging on the thread, just a tad.
I need to ground myself, focus.
I close my laptop.
No one in this meeting is safe.
I tell myself I will forget tomorrow. A lie. It’s already gone too far.
It’s already gone too far—the more I pull, the more I pay attention,
the less likely it is to happen.
A law of nature I made up years ago,
and am now beholden to.
My ankles—the thinnest part of my body,
my most-complimented extremity. Knobby.
I know they were created as handles, for someone’s wrist to grab on to.
A last resort, if I float away.
I beg for someone to prove me wrong.
I yearn for someone to make my dreams come true.
I realize it’s been a while, friends. I’ve been dealing with a likely work-induced writer’s block. I keep walking away from the essay I’m writing in hopes that some space will help, but the space just keeps growing and growing. I decided to pivot a bit—and I haven’t shared a poem here in a while! Hope you enjoy :) Love you lots!!!