How creaky the floorboards of a house long abandoned. You step gingerly into it, but why? It is like stepping into a chamber of your own heart, this is yours, this is familiar and comforting and if I built it why could I not return?
I never meant to be away so long. Never meant to let these muscles wane into oblivion, into a body I no longer recognize. You, I recognize. You, make sense. Everything else I could let go.
Fall turns into poetry if you let it, if you remember to watch the leaves twirl to the ground and the wind beat its way into your spine. Brooklyn sits reliable outside your window, even as you remain unreliable within it. You think it's been a year of silence but it's been two, you're losing gallons of the blood you worked so hard to put in your veins, is this how you repay me?
America, I'm puting my queer shoulder to the wheel.
The best thing about losing your self
is the premise of finding it
again.
