How:
a detail often overlooked.

Underestimate the difficulty
in uttering the first words.
Silenced by the stigma,
frozen more by the fear
of others more so than
the fear of oneself.

Too convenient would it be
for you to stop me.

I envision the concrete blocks
and well-walked tiles
graced only by us,
as we have not yet gone
where everyone has.

I imagine the nipping wind
on the main street side,
artificial light against
the black sky and white snow.
We are alone.

You gaze at my avoidant eyes,
and you, too, can barely speak
as dread crawls on your skin.

You realize that I am not
planning on this chance again.

I don’t leave—
yet—
as ambivalence grounds my feet.

I hope you’ll press,
‘cause I won’t share a burden
you didn’t consider.

Thank you, thank you—
I’m grateful as I collapse
to the cement or ceramic
(wherever we are), and
let the hell break loose.
 
 
 

It’s a stupid prayer
that you’ll show you give a shit
about me.

It’s a stupid prayer
that gets me through these nights,
as the tears soak through my sheets.

When I’m ready to give up fighting,
I can almost feel
your strong arms
holding me together.

It’s a stupid prayer
that I’ll keep waiting for,
until you prove it wrong.