my turn to leave

y brain gets the fact that you come as much as go,

though this logic exists incognito.

The rest of me is the tender skin under a band-aid,

and I’m not sure if what you were covering up will heal,

or if anything was ever broken.

But, damn—it hurts coming off,

regardless of speed or efficiency.

I don’t want you to stay forever,

wouldn’t ask that you’re always around.

But I’m jealous, okay? That you get to depart,

choose when to leave, and how.

I feel a bit stuck, like a ship run aground,

while you come and you go as you please,

never thinking of the transparent privilege you have

to ever so simply just leave.

I stand in my doorway

as you dish out your hugs

to my family members at large,

sink into the frame,

out of place in my skin,

not knowing where

in this puzzle

I belong.

You slink towards me,

I’ve forgotten I exist.

But I still garner the last embrace.

Your exit resembles the quick untying of shoelaces,

to me it feels like a corset pulled tighter.

I’m selfishly wishing to strip it off,

untie my own shoes and run barefoot

towards the ocean

until the tide and my own inhibitions

bring me back

effortlessly

to you.

See,

You don’t have to lie alone

in a bed that not the smoothest conman could convince you is half full,

nostalgia replacing the heat in your cheeks,

as your body forgets

what it was like to conform to another.

You don’t have to remain,

air stained

by my lingering presence

as I go off to conquer grander maybes.

Perhaps that’s not quite fair,

I hope you’ll forgive me

for looking at this through my own eyes, for now.

I hope you’ll forgive me

for asking you

to give me my chance,

to walk out the door,

Plant kisses and wish you goodbye.

Step slow with regret, out of sight, out of everything,

leaving nothing but memories behind.

But wait.

I want the pleasure of coming back too,

I want to not have to wait.

To show up at your door

when I want, when I’m ready,

swagger up with my unmemorized gait.

Not always be peering out windows,

and shuffling around empty rooms,

trying to convince myself I’m not waiting

for anything

for anyone.

for you.

Is there a way I can grasp hold of this balance,

not always be the one left behind?

Or should I accept my fate as the beach

give up hopes of becoming the tide?