When my hands slipped from their tired grasp around my mind,
They fell into your hands
Think: dreambrain, and fish tongue.
You are not a violent nothing, or a peaceful river, or a noon past purple sleep.
You are not my everything, or my darling love, or the pinnacle of my ceramic anxiety
We met in government class, where we sat in the back folding origami cranes
You are boy, think: beautiful
Synonyms include- scaly, frightening, loveworthy, crime scene, personalized thank you card
Synonyms do not include- perfect, angel, center, whole.
You will never be my home, or my air
But I will let you hold my hand as we run under awnings through the rain
My body broke when i fractured under the pressure of holding up the sky
It did not turn me into diamonds
It left lines on my legs that are not tattoos, or constellations, or anything beautiful
You will not make me less broken, but you tend to make me laugh
I do not wish to be crystalized, or sautéed, or tangled
And I don’t want my tangled nothings to suffocate you
What do you miss?
Replacement isn’t an option, but small togethers and soft violet glances are
Remembering something fondly is not the same thing as wanting it back.
And, I know you have some hard rememberings
And, I have shoulders. And caramel cinnamon ice cream, and yellow blankets
And we can be two wholes, together
our own little anythings,
with linked pinkies and quiet plans
J Kincaid-Beal is a 10th grade student at Community High School in Ann Arbor, Michigan. She is a writer, an activist, and a baker, and has several works of poetry and journalism up on The Communicator website. She was a semi-finalist in 2019 Washtenaw County youth poetry slam.