unspeaking

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unspeaking


i​ ​catch​ ​myself​ ​cataloging​ ​the​ ​ways​ ​we​ ​embrace i​ ​subtly​ ​turn​ ​away​ ​to​ ​hide​ ​the​ ​fact​ ​that i​ ​find​ ​you​ ​in​ ​these​ ​moments but​ ​you​ ​discern​ ​my​ ​smaller​ ​mind​ ​is​ ​thinking in​ ​the​ ​moments​ ​i​ ​wish​ ​i​ ​was​ ​blank,​ ​destitute because​ ​i​ ​am​ ​scared​ ​of​ ​my​ ​breed​ ​and​ ​my​ ​blood and​ ​my​ ​body​ ​and​ ​i​ ​am eschewing​ ​all​ ​the​ ​ways​ ​i​ ​can​ ​discern myself​ ​from​ ​myself​ ​from​ ​myself when​ ​i​ ​catch​ ​a​ ​glimpse​ ​of​ ​the​ ​ways​ ​you​ ​have​ ​constructed​ ​me from​ ​the​ ​mâché​ ​i​ ​left​ ​scattered​ ​on​ ​your​ ​bed i​ ​know​ ​your​ ​room​ ​is​ ​messy​ ​and​ ​i​ ​will​ ​add to​ ​the​ ​mess​ ​if​ ​you​ ​allow i​ ​would​ ​like​ ​to​ ​leave​ ​my​ ​shirts​ ​here​ ​and a​ ​book​ ​for​ ​my​ ​restless​ ​moments but​ ​they​ ​will​ ​be​ ​abandoned​ ​when​ ​you​ ​need when​ ​you​ ​find​ ​the​ ​self​ ​that​ ​i​ ​keep​ ​from​ ​myself i​ ​would​ ​just​ ​like​ ​the​ ​mâché​ ​if​ ​you​ ​wouldn’t​ ​mind


there​ ​is​ ​a​ ​portending​ ​greatness​ ​that​ ​calls i​ ​envision​ ​the​ ​rotary​ ​phone​ ​of​ ​my​ ​childhood unhooked​ ​to​ ​make​ ​way​ ​for​ ​the​ ​world​ ​wide​ ​web i​ ​could​ ​never​ ​dial​ ​the​ ​damn​ ​thing


i​ ​climb​ ​the​ ​tree​ ​etched​ ​in​ ​your​ ​ankle embedded​ ​in​ ​the​ ​hardwood sound​ ​sits​ ​at​ ​my​ ​pinna i​ ​am​ ​not​ ​the​ ​growth​ ​of​ ​the​ ​room shaking,​ ​restless settled​ ​as​ ​smoke​ ​above​ ​your​ ​head parsing​ ​space grasping​ ​at​ ​pointilism distanced​ ​from​ ​window​ ​to​ ​shade


“man” the​ ​subject​ ​noun​ ​hollows a​ ​winter​ ​coat​ ​washed​ ​/​ ​shrunk put​ ​on​ ​in​ ​trappings please​ ​don’t​ ​look


i​ ​am​ ​unsure​ ​of​ ​my​ ​footing​ ​as​ ​i​ ​traverse​ ​the​ ​great​ ​divides​ ​of​ ​the​ ​sidewalk.​ ​they​ ​are more​ ​my​ ​home​ ​than​ ​any​ ​other​ ​piece​ ​of​ ​land,​ ​but​ ​there​ ​is​ ​an​ ​unknown​ ​longing.​ ​a despondence​ ​that​ ​creates​ ​a​ ​divide,​ ​my​ ​mind’s​ ​canvas​ ​engrossed​ ​by​ ​the​ ​trees’​ ​roots disrupting​ ​the​ ​concrete.​ ​they​ ​create​ ​more​ ​cracks​ ​than​ ​i​ ​am​ ​prepared​ ​for.​ ​i​ ​slow​ ​my gait​ ​and​ ​count​ ​my​ ​steps,​ ​relinquishing​ ​the​ ​numbers​ ​as​ ​they​ ​come​ ​to​ ​me.​ ​each​ ​crack my​ ​foot​ ​meets​ ​feels​ ​foreign.​ ​it​ ​is​ ​not​ ​unpleasant,​ ​for​ ​i​ ​am​ ​blazing​ ​this​ ​trail​ ​for​ ​myself. the​ ​city’s​ ​sidewalk​ ​cracks,​ ​the​ ​sticker​ ​bushes​ ​of​ ​my​ ​youth.​ ​stickers,​ ​permuted,​ ​still​ ​on my​ ​clothes,​ ​cast​ ​aside​ ​onto​ ​the​ ​damp​ ​rocks,​ ​moments​ ​before​ ​i​ ​place​ ​myself​ ​on​ ​their larger​ ​counterpart.​ ​i​ ​trepidatiously​ ​seat​ ​myself​ ​on​ ​the​ ​rock,​ ​its​ ​jagged​ ​edge​ ​creating​ ​a crack​ ​within​ ​me.​ ​unknown​ ​to​ ​myself,​ ​and​ ​to​ ​others,​ ​baring​ ​all​ ​to​ ​myself​ ​and​ ​to​ ​nature, i​ ​am​ ​one​ ​in​ ​the​ ​same​ ​as​ ​i,​ ​conscious​ ​of​ ​my​ ​feet​ ​in​ ​my​ ​shoes,​ ​traverse​ ​the​ ​great​ ​divides of​ ​the​ ​sidewalk.


you​ ​and​ ​i​ ​for​ ​me and​ ​so​ ​i​ ​seldom​ ​see the​ ​eyes​ ​and​ ​ties of​ ​all​ ​that​ ​i can​ ​see​ ​and​ ​seldom​ ​be


your​ ​phone​ ​chimes​ ​again the​ ​blanket​ ​passes​ ​over​ ​your​ ​face knees​ ​extend​ ​outward asserting​ ​unknowing​ ​dominance​ ​of​ ​your​ ​space i​ ​assess​ ​the​ ​room try​ ​to​ ​count​ ​the​ ​cavalry​ ​of​ ​pills​ ​on​ ​your​ ​dresser vitamins​ ​and​ ​supplements​ ​arranged​ ​by​ ​letter s,​ ​m,​ ​t,​ ​etc. as​ ​you​ ​grow​ ​outwardly,​ ​i​ ​assess​ ​my​ ​space you​ ​have​ ​elected​ ​to​ ​grow​ ​by​ ​slimming i​ ​have​ ​elected​ ​to​ ​slim​ ​to​ ​disappearance we​ ​have​ ​elected​ ​to​ ​co-habitate​ ​a​ ​space​ ​impartially we​ ​both​ ​ponder​ ​shrinking side-by-side,​ ​unspeaking,​ ​back​ ​lit​ ​by​ ​the​ ​others’​ ​glowing​ ​phone in​ ​this​ ​moment​ ​i​ ​feel​ ​closest​ ​to​ ​you i​ ​feel​ ​smallest,​ ​myself​ ​for​ ​myself


silent​ ​at​ ​heidelberg i​ ​discern space​ ​from​ ​space i​ ​add​ ​the​ ​numbers​ ​in​ ​your​ ​stead


“looking​ ​at​ ​you​ ​is​ ​making​ ​me​ ​feel​ ​like​ ​i’m​ ​dying” i​ ​am​ ​drawn​ ​to​ ​a​ ​photo​ ​you​ ​took​ ​of​ ​me in​ ​a​ ​parking​ ​lot,​ ​likely​ ​a​ ​craft​ ​store’s the​ ​film​ ​did​ ​not​ ​complete​ ​the​ ​image torn​ ​from​ ​its​ ​packing, a​ ​field​ ​of​ ​white, two​ ​sunspots​ ​emblazoned​ ​in​ ​the​ ​corners visible​ ​only​ ​to​ ​myself i​ ​like​ ​to​ ​picture​ ​you​ ​reflecting back​ ​in​ ​the​ ​photographed​ ​drivers’​ ​side​ ​window your​ ​eyes​ ​drawn​ ​to​ ​mine squinting,​ ​solar​ ​flares​ ​marking​ ​your​ ​iris until​ ​the​ ​click draws​ ​them​ ​to​ ​the​ ​film in​ ​the​ ​smallness, you​ ​are​ ​mine​ ​and​ ​i​ ​am​ ​yours it​ ​is​ ​a​ ​vast​ ​nation, abridged​ ​by​ ​trinkets and​ ​a​ ​love​ ​embossed in​ ​the​ ​images​ ​that​ ​don’t​ ​turn​ ​out


real​ ​love sometimes​ ​i​ ​wish​ ​we​ ​never​ ​met dying​ ​now​ ​feels​ ​so​ ​lonesome


i​ ​am​ ​in​ ​a​ ​giving​ ​mood the​ ​prince​ ​has​ ​ordered​ ​my​ ​teeth​ ​pulled you​ ​displace​ ​the​ ​root​ ​from​ ​the​ ​filling i​ ​have​ ​chipped​ ​them​ ​away​ ​to​ ​make​ ​room​ ​for​ ​your​ ​enter i​ ​was​ ​not​ ​myself​ ​for​ ​myself if​ ​not​ ​you​ ​for​ ​you i​ ​will​ ​fall​ ​for​ ​it then​ ​i​ ​will​ ​fall​ ​for​ ​you my​ ​belly​ ​in​ ​bows yours​ ​in​ ​knots call​ ​me​ ​if​ ​you’re​ ​returning i’ll​ ​unlock​ ​the​ ​locks


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