Life of Rachel

Listen —
I wonder if you want to burn through me
like a candle in the dark?
If I asked for the space between you and me,
to see if I could miss you,
if I had the capacity —
would you let me be?

Could you be silent and steady and still,
and humor this tired mind?
Allow my thoughts to wander
and my heart to race
while I think of every possible outcome,
every way this could go swimmingly —
or become the actual death of hope inside.
Nothing in between,
for this brain that’s only black and white.

I know your soul wants to love my own,
and that you think it’s easier than anticipated.
Well, that’s because I swallowed my heart down
and pushed toward we are fated.

I am hyperventilating in hypervigilance, so wildly distrusting of any sort of romance.

The chambers of this wounded heart
are capable of biting like a dog —
so please, keep your caring hands to yourself
if you’d like for them to stay attached.
I’ve entreated, I’ve warned,
I’ve begged you not to come closer.

But you said you like pain.
So I’ll let you know one final time —
to love me now is to set yourself on fire,
and I will watch, to keep warm,
in the state that I am in.
Your overfamiliar tenderness has kicked up a trigger:

You don’t know me.
You cannot love me,
for you will see what is underneath.

I know you expect it,
but nonetheless it will be excruciating to find
that the place where my heart should be
is a chasm so wide —
full of depth, but set in flames.
So I ask you, one last time,
because I care:
tread lightly,
and let me be
in my own company,
over here.