Relationships are bruised knuckles

Relationships are bruised knuckles

relationships are bruised knuckles

when you’ve punched the lights out

of anything that’s ever made you feel

you bleed at first

but you like when the blood cracks 

and your hand is all catholic confession

share and tell

and let go of

like you never did wrong

relationships are the trains

you miss on purpose

so you don’t have to wonder

if the stare of his warm-warn-in gaze

is love or lust

if it’ll last you

until home

if his NYC is too far from home

you don’t have to wonder 

if you’re worth it

your shapeshifting

the jello of you

the stuff that slipped off the tray in grade school

your uprootedness

your hollow

your void

like a check you write anyways

and you skip from soul to soul

like its hopscotch

love is hopscotch 

and when you find something

worth it

you jump

you croon

you put all of you

on the tracks

you attach yourself 

there like its all 
or nothing

because most of this time 

its nothing

and then you can cradle 

your bruised

your broken

convince yourself that

love is a game

and you loved

when she told you that you are so obviously queer

you melted into it

embraced her words like you would

your nana’s arms

because in it was belonging 

even though you disagree

because you are not ‘so obviously’ anything

so obviously you are nothing

except, you are bruised knuckles

and you wonder if your purple-blue 

is the same as storm clouds

because then you think

you will give yourself a little

-

the rain will come