a time where our wrists haven't met and your bony fingers
aren't fists around my palms, interlocked. We walk,
my tongue is tied but yours is sharp, talking in the dark
you would say that you're just trying to keep the bad things away. "
Looking for vacancies between ribs and thighs and telling white
lies you know can calm me down, and they do.
Now I still don't feel hollow - I just keep following your footsteps
in the night and doing my best not to put up a fight;
I try not to let go of your hand as you grow taller but
still I'm not shrinking, not yet.
My body is filled with spirits and they weigh me down.
I am heavier now than I've ever been,
with ghosts that won't let themselves be seen.