If you’d let me

If you’d let me,
I’d make a list of the things I see
and they remind me of you,
and I’d send you postcards with poems –
I’d get you flowers in colourful pots
for you to take care of,
and every Sunday I’d send you a picnic basket
– except for the times I’d bring it myself

If you’d let me,
I’d write mixtapes for you that you’d never listen to,
and I’d sing loudly in the car the songs that make me think of you –
I’d make you coffee and breakfast in the morning,
and I’d recite you pieces of my favourite books
until you’d shut me up by making desperate faces

If you’d let me
I’d be there for you, to listen about everything you’d want to say
I’d stroke your hair and boop your nose,
and I’d hold your hand and cuddle you in the dark,
and in the light

If you’d let me
I’d become anything, for you.

Only you didn’t,
So I became everything.
For myself.

the story

i’ve told that story
half a dozen times,
maybe more –
about how i saw
my own mother
collapse in front of me
crying
and screaming
like a wounded animal,
because i told her
that
i wanted to live.

i’ve told that story
half a million times,
maybe more –
about how no one
should ever witness
such a mourning
just for trying
to become what they are.

i’ve told that story
half a billion times,
maybe more –
about how building oneself
means you have to burn,
and revive
from the ashes.

i’ve told that story,
and i will say it again –
until no one else
should find themselves
experiencing
such pain,
to create the person
they are after.