who i am and why i'm not (poetry)

statues

my baby, my everything,

chiseled away from my soul.

goliath would crack me today,

grind me to ashes,

but I would still float against

the wind if it meant I

would end up stuck in your

hair,

as dust on your clothes.

they locked you in a white room,

hung your picture on the wall.

"welcome home!"

when they said that, did

you think of me?

you have no windows,

no door.

where are you?

i knock and knock

and dream you'll emerge

from the solidness,

like an aura,

and tell me all your thoughts

like you used to.

like we used to on the

trampoline, summer days,

sticky hands,

big loves that changed

every second.

those moments are an art gallery

in my mind,

your hand in mine the

most glorious display.

I love the way the light

cascades off our skin,

dripping like rain,

like sweat,

like melted ice cream.

my friend, my all,

carved out of my bones.

when they said

this is home, did you

tell them they were wrong?

the roof there is only held up

by concrete

while we were held up by

the skin of eachothers teeth,

smiling and screaming .

you are downed in white now,

but not the kind we used to plan

for before drifting off to sleep,

telling each other that,

of course, I'll be your bridesmaid,

and of course, you'll come

on our honeymoon,

of course, I'll still love you more.

my girl, my life,

I wish you were still with me.

this gallery of statues hasn't been

dusted in years,

but I know you would

know them all,

like the back of my hand,

like the sound of our

mixed laugher.

when you

finally get out of that house,

my love,

come home.

-V