how do you say goodbye when you hang up the phone? what does your voice sound like in the morning? do you believe in free will? do you miss me too? what does your laugh sound like when you’re tired? was 2016 hard for you? have you ever looked for something you didn’t know was lost until you couldn’t remember the last time you saw it? what do you think about when you look out of the window? do you remember how to laugh so hard you cry? are you awake most of the time? can you feel me thinking of you from across the country? do you believe in time? how old were you when it all started to make sense? do you like to sleep in silence? would you rather drown or freeze? have you ever been touched by a hot glue gun? what does your body feel like when you hear me say your name? are you open to dying? are you emotional at sunset? would you kiss me if i asked you to? do you wake up to natural light? can you sum up your needs in one word? do you write letters to anyone? does your heart race when you watch someone fall? have you ever been moved by the wind? do you play the same song over and over when it makes you feel like home? is that what it felt like to meet me too? how long does it take you to get out of bed lately? do your dreams still feel real? can you feel me when you look into the sun? did you people watch at the airport when you left? what do you turn to when you landed? how long did it take you to forget?

lately my hands are shaking so much i don’t recognize my own handwriting. i still don’t dot my i, or use a lowercase R, sometimes use a lowercase e when i shouldn't. my movements aren’t nearly as refined anymore, maybe it’s all of the stimulants…or just the average pace of chaos. maybe i just need a glass of water, a cigarette and a good night’s sleep...a few million dollars, and for you to answer the phone // if i’m going to fantasize why would i settle for steady hands? i’ve had so many questions for you but i think the most pestering is: if my hands don’t stop shaking will you hold the pen for me?

i’ve been thinking a lot about menthol cigarettes; not sure what it is about the city that makes me need a fantasy…or maybe i am and that’s the whole issue. i’m always wishing things would slow down speed up at the same time, so i can breathe // i’m not sure who i thought i was by growing my nails this long i can barely hold a pen, type or put my weight in my hands on the ground…some of the only ways i can find god…but i’m not sure what to say, you don’t want to call me anyway. lately everything always feels like menthol in my throat.

missing you because my hair is in my face, tangled in the same way you woke up next to me each morning. if the wind wasn’t so strong this would be easier. i like talking about the secret service coming to my job after my friend was murdered now that it feels like it didn’t happen to me. i can’t remember if i told you that story or not. i made a playlist that makes you feel real, it helped me realize i don’t need a reunion to know it was. i want to see you so badly that i ignore it completely. i wonder why it took me so long to see that i should have listened to my intuition. i’ve been in denial about a lot. my college best friend is getting married in june, are you free on the 11th?

the first time a snake made its way out of my scalp i didn’t feel the pain in my head, i felt it in my gut. i can hear the laughter of the first boy to ever call me fat, but not over the sound of a snake rattling it’s tail inside of my skull. a few more slithered out after playing truth or dare with a dime of middle schoolers in the hot tub. they swam to grit their shiny fangs at the boy who sunk his head to wash away my lips in front of everyone; i can hear his laughter too, but not over the sizzling hunger in my hair. 

a couple more grew from the sides of my head after the first person to teach me the word love said it at the same time as he left me. i can still hear his soft laugh but not over the searing of my temples. each time a man used me for my body, new snake heads burst from my scalp. and even more came each time a man saw me as a plot point, a girl to develop him; their laughter and my snakes make a hell-filled harmony. some snakes grew even long enough to spit their venom onto the pages of poems i’ve written about you— enough to drown a village in their own mouth foam—  new ones rear their spiteful heads through my curls and as i walk my laughter floods the streets, but not over the sound of the snakes hissing at every man that’s been, is and will be too blind to really love me, 

just not you. they do not hiss at you. 

why?

turn around and face me. 

watch them turn you to stone.