I sit on the empty banks of the my island,
edge of the cliffs, waves slamming into rock
borders I’ve carved with my own blood and
Some you’ve sliced:
consequences of laying bare my imperfections at
your feet
I sweep the sand with my toes at the southeast edge,
Reminding myself of how I’ve done the same thing to others
:
Sliced parts of myself away from them to maintain
a small version of a relationship
Borders aren’t the enemy
***
Under the stars, I sleep
back against cold stone
the weight of us does not change,
for I am always wondering,
which one of my words were the ones that sliced you open
can I have us this way–from a distance,
on the surface, never quite touching
I hike over to the other side of
my island,
heavy feet,
bleeding eyes
arrive
at the northwest edge
Squint to find peace
:
Different doesn’t mean worse
borders aren’t the enemy.
