i nurse fear at the back of
my throat. it hums softly
sometimes, almost as if to tease me.
to remind me of its existence,
to remind me why it’s there and
who put it there.
i want to break the fast of
silence that has been holding onto
my tongue. i want to run to you
over the sound of my pride and tell you
of my un-doing, my un-ravelling.
i want to write to you sometimes and
tell you how my fear is the shape of
your absence and it’s shadow is the
distance between us. i want to tell
you that i am tired of loving people
that never come back.
but even in the moments
when the insides of my mouth unravel
and become soft,
the fear at the back of my throat takes shape
and reminds me that i do not own you.