You were right,
I am different.
My heart doesn’t have strings,
it has tentacles.
They’ll wrap around you
and adorn you in suction cup kisses.
If you scare me,
I’ll build inky word walls
between us so I can get away-
I don’t want to listen to you
talk about how I have
no skeleton, unlike you
and how I can hold
onto more at once than you
and how I have
more heart(s) than you…
so I couldn’t possibly understand.
If my escape isn’t fleet enough,
please promise you won’t
sever my tentacles.
(Heartstrings can be retied,
tentacles are another matter;
not all of us are capable
of autotomy.)
I swear I wasn’t trying
to crack your wooden ribs…
It’s just that this is the only way
I know how to love you.
But I will let go,
if you ask it of me.
I will detach myself,
and I hope you will feel it,
every suction cup kiss
being ripped away
as I sink down
where tentacle-hearts
belong.
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this is why i want to write with you. i love your brain, i love how wonderfully descriptive your words are, how they wrap themselves around me, not unlike a tentacle, and i suddenly feel every syllable.
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