This is the dark we met in:
you gave me flowers, but they were too much like me and didn’t quite know how to breathe right
and I could never tell if they were roses or peonies but when I asked, you kissed my forehead and said
“God made them new baby, he named them after you”
I didn’t know how to tell you that if God had named anything after me it would have been the time when the sky looked like it was folding into itself because that was the way I crumbled
turning into myself like cake batter, only if you licked your fingers after
you’d taste the sea and you’d taste longing,
I didn’t know how to tell you then
that I was only a girl, that there were planets inside of me but they hadn’t been born yet and still now,
still carefully, I am trying to figure out the parts of me that need tape and I’m using my own hands this time because
the first time I held yours I didn’t know if I was still existing and it was a beautiful sort of dark.
But listen, loving you felt like a throat full of teeth, everything was an open wound, I turned into so many colours that when your hands came away from my body they were the brightest shade of white I’d ever seen
and this is the dark we loved in, there was too much and at the same time,
there was nothing at all.
For the dinner table.
For the men who have made you
believe that you are some place that
can be left.
You move like a thief in a jewelry store,
always poised for an alarm, for
a mistake, and I don’t know how
to tell you that the diamonds are already yours.
For the coffee mug with your name on it.
For the yoga mat in the closet
that is forgetting your hands.
I want to be with you in the place where you have not made yourself small,
in the place where you still love my poetry and don’t smile like surrender.
For the home in your throat.
For your ankles.
For the prayer in your teeth.
I love you like freedom.
I love you like there is no room for anything else.
I love you like straight spine.
I wish you would stand up and meet me there.
You must learn her.
You must know the reason why she is silent. You must trace her weakest spots. You must write to her. You must remind her that you are there. You must know how long it takes for her to give up. You must be there to hold her when she is about to.
You must love her because many have tried and failed. And she wants to know that she is worthy to be loved, that she is worthy to be kept.
And, this is how you keep her.
—This is How you Lose Her, Junot Diaz
You know what, to be completely honest, really, just, fuck you.
(from here on out, always)