BARE FEET

written before i moved to New York: 

It’s funny, the next version of me feels like you, even though you’re gone. Brooklyn, bare feet, sex, late nights, and selfishness.

With rage like yours, I claim economic freedom, victory, and self-trust, the right to be angry if those are endangered.

With a hurt like yours, I let go of black and white forever, because you smile and reject hugs and you could never be bad, so neither could I.

Judgements are tiresome. Every lesson unlearned is a lie we long to reckon with. Redirection is wasteful: it’s in our nature to be hell-bent on healing. 

I am so worn out from trying to stop loving the world, trying to stop loving you.