THOUGHT AS SHAPE

I am trying
not to think of
myself as tragedy
or even really at all.
I don’t want to think.
Not of April and not of
being 17 or 18 or 19 or
being stupid crazy in love or
free-falling out of it or about
what tomorrow will bring or all
the places I’ve ever called home or
having friends or losing them or my
perpetually unkempt hair or the one freckle
on your neck I touch when I’m lying on your chest
or the way you sing to yourself and call yourself a fool
even though we both know I am a fool for you and proud of it.
I am trying so hard not to think of how my life lately has
been feeling like running in circles with untied shoes
tripping over concrete skinning both of my knees
and hiding them under my jeans so no one finds
out I’ve been hurt so I can just keep running.
I am trying not to think of myself as evil
for having a heart that loves so loudly
the way it screams always waking up
the entire neighborhood. I don’t
want to think. I want to return
to when it was easy to rest
and think about April
and 17 and 18 and
being so in love I
truly believed
there was no
way I could
fall out
of it.

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