i came back to my poems last night

i came back to hold this summer's feelings up to the light

just to find that it's the same cloth, cut 8 years apart

it's the closest i've come in years to letting the pain out through my skin

i almost forgot how to draw the butterflies

isn't that funny?

i used to think i'd never be able to stop.

and she was excited to come back to me after so long away 

i kept her room in my chest the same

her bed a tangle of motheaten silk and flannel

ths walls scratched with tally marks and splashed with red paint

she made herself at home, let me know she'd be staying a while 

it was hard to ask for his help when i haven't seen his name in so long

he came when i called (just like he always did)

this time around, he just holds my hand

that's all.

he takes my hand

and it's enough.