So much of me is so much of you.
Even though I am far away,
no longer haunting your bubblegum walls,
sometimes, from a light year’s distance,
I wonder if you still feel me.
Do you remember when we wrote that first poem together?
An electrical surge. The circuits in my mind blew.
I didn’t mind the dark, though—I was the inventor of light.
You are where I learned how to believe in magic.
And do the typewriter keys ever mention my touch?
I want to apologize for the times I ran the ribbon dry
for people who never believed in me.
It wasn’t worth it.
Do you ever imagine the weight of my body,
my skin against your linen, the heaviness of sleep?
Sometimes, in a room that doesn’t know me,
I wish I were still small enough to fit everything I am
inside the safety of your four walls.
I wish I were still small enough to belong to you.
Innocence, where are you?
Can I find you tucked away under the box spring mattress
where I’ve stored scrapbooks of photographs
and dusted treasure chests of ghosts
I can’t bear to rummage through anymore?
I hope so.
I hope we can reunite one day.
I am so much braver than the girl who used to be yours.