baby--veins

[baby--veins]

i’m beginning to think i imagined the love i once saw here. it don’t just go away, i know that much. i have stayed in love so many times long after the love itself had died. so where is the chalk outline. where is our goodbye.

there was a time my voice could reach every corner of this space. but it looks so different now. this place just isn’t the same. tell me when i became something soft to bite into. tell me why you sunk your teeth into me. how the fuck do you sleep at night. how did you make it look so easy.

did i ever know you, was this change in small pieces or all at once. nothing here makes sense to me. tell me what i could have done differently. was there a way to preserve this, keep it from imploding. could i have wrapped this up in bubble wrap or spider webs or rope.

where did you go? where did you go?

[baby--veins]

mama said i’m safe now. she doesn’t have to check on me anymore. my hands are heavy and my eyes are dry when she sees them and i never waver, not like i used to. not like back then.

and when i first tasted safe, it tasted like falling asleep in my passenger seat. it smelled of dragonfruit and coffee. safe kissed my nose and chased me silly around the living room. safe was there on my worst days, on my hardest days, and it held my hand tight. it whispered til the hard times turned softer, more malleable. we picked them apart with steady fingers while we ate breakfast.

and safe keeps me warm when the world is cold, even if i don’t say it. safe just knows.

and it’s sweet, with a bitter aftertaste. just on the tip of my tongue. it is un-numbing to feel the stability that i once craved with my whole being. it is un-nerving how many times i thought i was home before here. my feet curl, and i am digging my toenails into the rug so it stays put. so it doesn’t send me sprawling again.

but it never moves beneath me. it never wavers.

not like it used to.

not like back then.

[baby--veins]

one day i’ll realize i can write about happy, too. words don’t always have to hurt to mean something. not everything has to be powerful and heavy and on the verge of breaking to be beautiful.

it’s been a dark year. it’s been a dark couple of years. there’ve been flashes of light in the black, but the tunnel stays unlit. i am building my own torches. i’m not so scared of fire anymore.

sometimes the thought that getting better isn’t a linear process hurts like broken glass under my heels. one bad day doesn’t mean you’ve fallen off the ladder, just that you slipped down a few rungs. but what if there’s two or three. what if it’s a week of worse. then what?

but i am healing and i am extending and i still hold all the same wounds, but i know how to tend to them now.

i think younger me would be proud.

a.m

[baby--veins]

you said you had a poltergeist. hot on your heels, ready to strike. he had you by the throat, you said. you said.

and so we lit some candles, and held hands in a circle, and i heard him speak through you, ugly and twisted and sharp. your tongue was dripping crimson when he gave it back. you never noticed the blood in my hair. i never mentioned the slit in my spine.

and when he left you, you came home. like you’d never been gone, like those words never came from your throat. like they never came for me. and i cut your nails and we got drunk and dyed our hair and it almost went away, almost crept by undetected.

but poltergeists don’t disappear; not the first time. not in this story. so when he started throwing knives, you threw them right back and they went straight through him. it isn’t your fault there are holes in me now. but you never even asked if it hurt.

and it hurt. some days it still hurts. some nights it aches. some mornings i forget until i don’t and you caused that. but you were always going to break my heart, you know. and i knew it all along.

poltergeists can cause damage, yeah. but the marks in my shoulders match your teeth. how selfish to think you’re the only one deserving of an apology.

[baby--veins]

everyone i meet tells me i look like you.

i’ve thought about cutting all my hair off - not just short, but gone. i’ve considered changing my name, learning a new language. anything that you don’t know, i want to. anything you do, i want to forget. anything you’ve done, i want to pretend you didn’t. that wasn’t when i knew you. i never did at all.

mom says i’ll wake up one day and feel differently. i haven’t asked her whether she ever did. there are some aches that never quite go away. not completely. not entirely. so i’m waiting for the day to come where it becomes a dull throb. nothing but a small creak in my bones. you can only kind of hear it if you listen really close.

[baby--veins]

my poetry book “cutting my hair short” is now available on lulu.com! it is my favourite book i’ve ever published, with some of my favourite illustrations i’ve ever had the pleasure of working with. i’m so proud of this one. i can’t wait for you all to see it. ✨

cutting my hair short is all about making big changes, and rebuilding/growing again. i hope this small collection resonates with you as much as it has with me. ✨

find it here: http://www.lulu.com/shop/alyssa-michelle/cutting-my-hair-short/paperback/product-24075605.html

[baby--veins]

god damn he says. god damn.

i know. god damn means i can’t believe how in love with you i am. god damn means fuck. means how on earth did you ever find me. means i love you. i love you. i love you.

he squeezes my hand three times in the car. he taps my shoulder three times. he plants three kisses on the back of my head. three three three. that number will never be the same for me. it will never be anything but i love you. i love you. i love you.

he texts me remember, you have that appointment today and hey, don’t forget to do your laundry and listen, four days is far too long to go without you. and fourteen hours is too long to go without you. and i’ll see you in forty minutes. and that’s too long to go without you.

and in the end, there isn’t one at all. and when you know, you just know. and we know. i know. god damn. god damn.

[baby--veins]

we’re driving our own cars to my least favourite place, with the same album playing loud through our speakers, and i can’t see you but i know you’re smiling wide. nobody could ever get between us on the highway. i let my hazard lights blink - just three times. my back windows light up and repeat the pattern. this could be a fucking movie scene, you know that?

we’re sitting in the living room, the one with too many couches. the one with just enough couches. we fell asleep here for the first time. only i didn’t actually sleep. i guess i was ahead of myself - i got you back in advanced for all the nights i pass out now before you can. i told you to wake me up. i always tell you to wake me up.

now we’re lying in a bath tub with pink water. we’ve listened to two full albums now, our fingers are pruned. my hair is a mess again. i don’t mind too much. the water is getting colder. we don’t seem to notice until we’re ready to get out. we keep saying crazy. and wild. and insane. but. my head screams obvious. meant to be. and fate.

you know what i mean. you always do. you always have. it has been one hundred and thirteen days since i first heard your name. now it plays through my radio, my alarm screams it some mornings. my heart sings it at night. and you hit me like a silent train. i didn’t see you coming, couldn’t have possibly prepared myself for the impact. but you’re here. you’re here. and you’re home. you’re home.

and so home is you. and you know that. you know.

[baby--veins]

then one day “it’s okay” became “enough.” everyone always talks about breaking points but nobody expected mine to be so close, so ready, so strong. it’s like the earth stopped rotating for a second. it’s like something snapped in my bones. it all started when i called this place home.

so when you called, i declined it. or i just let the phone ring. you never left me voicemails, never really had anything important to say. just checking in, just wondering where you are right now. just wondering why you haven’t been over. just wondering why you won’t pick up.

so keep wondering. and keep calling. and then stop altogether. and i’ll keep letting the phone ring. and i’ll stop pretending that you’re listening. and i’ll decline again. and you’ll sigh again. and maybe this time you’ll stop lying to me. maybe this time you’ll leave and stay gone. maybe that’s what i’ve wanted all along. blood don’t mean much. maybe it means nothing at all.

[baby--veins]

i’m sitting outside my old apartment, and i should be sad right now. i used to dread coming here to collect my mail. tonight i am dancing up the front steps. two months ago i had a hard time getting out of bed. then i had a hard time falling asleep. today we sat in your car with your three closest friends and there was nothing but ugly laughter. and sometime between getting back in your car and getting out, i realized you’ve got my entire heart in both your hands. and that is both terrifying and absolutely wonderful.

i guess what i’m trying to say is that this place was home for a year. i lost all my christmas and halloween decorations. i had poetry in these walls that i’ll never write again. but thank you. for decorating a tree with me. for being twenty minutes late to the theatre with me. for watching five movies in a row with me. for singing loud enough for me to hear. for holding out your hand but knowing you don’t have to ask. for being my best friend and rock and home all at once so quickly. thanks for being my home the most. because you are already. my home.

[baby--veins]

we keep saying we’ve got time. we do. twenty-seven days ago you sang the wrong lyrics to one of my favourite songs and no one else noticed. twenty-two days ago you got in my car and never left it. right now, there are fourteen empty coffee cups on my counter. my living room is covered in poetry and candy bars. i don’t know where you came from but i know where you’re staying. so stay. and stay. and stay.

[baby--veins]

tonight we parked outside a shoppers drug mart and you stood outside my car so i could press play on both our phones at the same time, then we drove in our own cars to my house with our playlist blaring loud in unison. and i’d write poetry about it, but i think that’s beautiful enough on its own.

[baby--veins]

five red lights and two stop signs. it seems like such a short distance but it feels like nine lives. i’m just trying to make it home, but that place doesn’t exist anymore. it took four hours and two minutes to watch it fade, like it was never there. like i was never there. i wish i wasn’t.

my phone alarm scares me now. i can’t wake up without smelling smoke. i can’t go to bed without watching the green light on the nearest fire alarm blink four times. good. that means it’s working. i’ll have three minutes to run. i’m ready this time.

and whatever warned me knows me best, knows i shouldn’t have touched the door knob without checking it. fight or flight really just means you have to know when you’ve got no chance. know when you’ve got nothing left to fight for. know when you’ve lost the war.

and i lost. i lost. i lost.

[baby--veins]

you laugh like i do when i’m sick. i guess it’s a hereditary thing. you never read my poetry, you used to say it was because it never made any sense to you. it never hit me that it was because i don’t make any sense to you. sometimes i wonder if i ever did.

your hands were always too rough, and most of the time they were covered in grease. or cement. or oil. they were never clean. your hands were never clean. at least, not when you were holding me. never then. they were never clean then.

you said my hair was too long, so i cut it all off. you saw it twice, but you never said you liked it. i guess you didn’t say you hated it, but it still stung. i dyed it blue and purple once, you told me i looked like a bird, but like, a really annoying one. one that won’t shut up. i said okay. i shut up just to prove you wrong.

and oh, that laugh. the one you let out during any movie i hated. the one that plagued me long after you stopped. long after we stopped trying. long after you did. so we stopped.

and i’m finding out things i never knew before. all of these old secrets hidden in hope chests and garages, old memories of houses i grew up in. you used to chase me up the stairs. now i run from things that aren’t there. but these things actually scare me. not like back then. you were never scary to me.

so as all the lies unfold, i hope you know you’ll stick to me like the smell of smoke does. i can douse you with hand sanitizer until i light myself on fire, i can spray you with perfume until you don’t smell like loss. like ashes. like a fire that won’t go out. and it’ll be hot and humid and burn my throat. but i’ll learn to let you go. i’ve had to do it before.

[baby--veins]

two days ago, i was in new york city. yesterday i woke up in philadelphia. tonight i sleep in maryland. i’m losing track of the city streets, all these town names are unfamiliar to me. i’ve seen them lit up on tv screens and in catalogs, beaches i never dreamed of dancing along.

but look, i’m here. and i made it this far. and i’ll keep going until i run out of money. run out of luck. run out of time. there could never be enough to see everything i want to see. enough of anything. there could never be enough of me.

but two days ago, i was in new york city. i made the last ride on the carousel in central park. yesterday i wanted to wake up in philadelphia. i wanted to wake up and see more. i wanted to wake up. tonight i’m sleeping in the cargo of a van in a wal mart parking lot in maryland and i’m comfortable. and i’m happy. and i’m happy.

and god knows where i’ll end up next. god knows if i’ll even make it back home. you can’t say you live somewhere if you’re always on the road. so maybe i won’t say it. maybe i won’t.

1:48am, september 26th, 2018

[baby--veins]

I don’t know what mall this is, but I’m somewhere in Cleveland eating a cheesesteak having the time of my life.

[baby--veins]

this city is one always-flickering streetlight away from becoming a ghost town. last night i saw two tumbleweeds. two weeks ago i heard tornado sirens buried under thunder and wind. i swear, i smell burning right before i fall asleep. sometimes i wonder if maybe it’s just me.

this lane ends in a block and a half. this road becomes a one-way just before i reach my front porch. there are two street corners i can’t drive past without looking both ways twice. one of them is his. the other used to be my home before i ran from it. i’ve always been good at covering my tracks. i taught myself not to look back.

i don’t talk about the sunny days anymore. i don’t see as many bright rainbows as i used to. seymour park is just another patch of mulch and gravel. sometimes i drive past it and pretend it’s a life boat again. other times i only look straight ahead. you should always keep your eyes on the road. i keep turning up the radio and pretending not to notice.

and i’ve lived here nearly all my life. there are still some lanes i’ve never been in, some street names i don’t recognize. my heart doesn’t feel as safe here anymore. not like it used to. i’ve felt too much on these sidewalks, i’ve walked too many of these paths with a broken heart. so one day i’ll run. maybe i’ll never learn to love this city and it’s potholes. maybe these roads are just getting too old.