It’s funny how we blame beauty on “good genes”,
spend $198 on a stupid pair of pants.
We lay awake at night
five inches from his comatose
bones thinking how we’d rather be breathing in the weight
of her troubled mind, but she always reeked
of good intentions.
We settle for him because the way our DNA intertwines
makes the nostalgia disappear.
We seek approval from our estranged parents
only to find they never knew us at all.
Recitals, graduation, birthdays attended by
a couple of victims on a string,
circulation cut off by the adoration of bruised children.
To say we’re sorry only minimizes the hurt. We
write an open letter to the world, how we need
love. We search for and lean
on tables or people or whatever will hold us.
Her mind set free like a canary in a cage with
arms like wings, held high.