mynotesappat3am

[mynotesappat3am]

I write love letters for someone I do not know

I lay in my bed alone and ache for arms I have never missed before

You can’t miss what you never had and you can’t cry for what you’ve never had time to mourn

But I mourn I mourn I mourn

Do I want love, or do I want to be adored?

There is a hole in my heart and my chest flexes around it

There’s is a gaping emptiness inside of me and it’s shaped like a soul I’ve never met

A soul never been born

My heart thuds rapidly and I know my body remembers

My body remembers your love

But you’ve never been born

And I’ve never loved before

How can you miss something you’ve never had? How can you mourn something that’s never lived?

I love you I love you I love you

The mind forgets but the heart remembers

My heart remembers

I will meet you and my heart will remember

And my soul will fit

And my bed will be warm

When I meet you and you are familiar

When I hold you and you are warm

When I love you and I am yours

Yours yours yours

[mynotesappat3am]

I am in my bedroom

I am clutching my chest

I am whimpering

I am the wounded dog

I will always be the wounded dog

Nothing ever changes

Please take me home

I’ll sit at your feet and chase the ball you throw

Just bring me inside when it’s cold

And pet me every so often, and brush my hair and tell me I’m a good girl

Human comfort is a strangeness to me

My body rejects it like a foreign disease

I shiver and I shake and I become immobile at the thought of being loved in ways that are not cold

There is a wall between me and everything I’ve ever loved

A negatively curving exponential graph

A limitless technique that will never hit zero

But might one day hit infinity

There is infinity between our trembling palms, and you think I can tell you I love you?

I will draw you a never ending symbol and you will call it an eight.

“You are alone in your bedroom clutching at your chest and whimpering like a wounded dog”

[mynotesappat3am]

I hope when I die and they come into my room to take my body away

That they will step over the trash bags and the piles of old clothes and the crumpled up papers to lift my soft and useless body from the crumb-speckled bed and they will not call me lazy, but exhausted.

I hope they will be kinder to myself than I was

[mynotesappat3am]

I am my fathers favorite lamb

The one he carries up the mountain

The one he sees in the reflection of the knife inside his hand

I am my fathers favorite lamb

There’s nothing that he won’t do to me

For my father is god’s favorite executioner and I am my father’s favorite son

Issac son of Abraham