tiny

tiny
is how she referred to your taste
in women.

giving
is how you referred to your taste
in sex.

attractive
is how you referred to your taste
in my brain.

stunning
is how you referred to your taste
in my sister.

cuddly
is how you referred to yourself,
“like a child,” you said
you would “get sexier cuddles rather than sad cuddles,” and i,
for whatever reason,
thought you meant with me.

and it is a good thing
a very good thing
that i took my heart out of my chest and held it away from you this time.
because you said more things:
“idk what to do without you”
“why are you leaving me”
“worst comes to worst you can marry me.”

i told you over a week ago that i am intensely attracted to you.
am i such a good liar that you don’t understand
attraction in this case is not synonymous with sex, no
it’s not synonymous with sex, it’s
synonymous with the thousands of ways I
can love you and touch you better than they ever have?

but then i remember my sister
and i remember what you first said to me.
it was about her.
and i want to paint my chest the color of the sky with my fists
each second for forgetting,
for ever thinking i could move beyond it,
for ever thinking i should move beyond it.

and there is a girl from Syria who is kind
and gentle
and funny
and smart
and intimidating
and intoxicating
who is waiting to excavate my memories.

you have intrinsic worth, and i will always recognize it.

but the smell and searing pain of my flesh
cooking on the back burner upon which you’ve placed me
is more than i should handle. and i
can smell the scent of hers cooking as well.
it is more than she should handle.

you ask me with your eyes why i haven’t decolonized
my Irish spirit,
why i still worship a God
forced on my ancestors.
i cannot bring myself to answer that question

but every time I hear the melodies my fingers
are no longer allowed to produce in public
I feel the rage of the Creator at the way I have suffered,
and I cannot help but feel like I matter
more than being stuck on back burners
and being the second-best-sibling
and being broken up with for the second time.

my heart hurts; I will not lie.
but I also will not fail to thank you
for showing me the way back home–
not to the sidhe,
not to you,
not to her.

Home.

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